


Google Maps Australia

by Cauilflower, youjokebut



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Drug Use, Google Maps AU, Hitchhiking, Modern AU, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, jamie basically pays mako to be his friend and listen to his mixtape, more tags will be added, obnoxious amounts of recreational drug use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-07-02 03:36:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 35,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15788142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cauilflower/pseuds/Cauilflower, https://archiveofourown.org/users/youjokebut/pseuds/youjokebut
Summary: Mako had been taking up driving jobs for years now, it was good pay and came with a lifestyle he’d grown content with. And yeah sure, his ass got pretty sore from time to time, but it wasn’t unbearable. And with this job, he’d made a pretty sweet deal. So, he wasn't sure why he was suddenly so unenthused to start working.





	1. Hitchhiker

**Author's Note:**

> I literally cannot thank Al (@youjokebut on Twitter) enough for all their help with the dialogue and structure and overall brainstorming. This literally could not have been done without you thank you so much.

Mako had been taking up driving jobs for years now, it was good pay and came with a lifestyle he’d grown content with. And yeah sure, his ass got pretty sore from time to time, but it wasn’t unbearable. And with this job, he’d made a pretty sweet deal. So, he wasn't sure why he was suddenly so unenthused to start working. 

The first job he’d taken up after a week break in Alice Springs advertised itself as a City Driving Job and he’d been mildly amused to find it was for Google Maps. Under the impression that it was Google employees and not randos from job hunting sites that drove the cars. 

There was some brief training on how to use the cars equipment beforehand. How to use the GPS, how to press the buttons for recording, how to use the radio, the works. Then he’d just been turned loose. Completely flossing through hours and hours of residential areas. And while it wasn't ideal for a man of his stature to have to accommodate to a Prius, it paid much better than the previous areas of work he’d been doing. He absolutely agreed to another shift when they called him back.

In the meantime he was still able to take up commercial truck work, traveling all across Queensland and Northern Territory. Anytime he wound up in a city he’d call the business number they’d left him with. 

Working two jobs was paying off handsomely, but he figured there was an alternative to bouncing between employers so much. He’d made it to Longreach when he had put the offer on the table after asking about longer distance driving. It took some phone calls and a preliminary run up National A2, but they agreed to what could be called a promotion. There was a promise of a more appropriate long distance car in the very near future but he agreed to start his new position immediately. 

He had started back in Longreach with the intention of reaching Mount Isa, which would have been a quick and painless trip if he stayed on National A2. But that wasn't the plan. He was going to make it to Winton before breaking off onto National 62 and then head up towards Mount Isa. It added four more hours to the drive but he’d been told that the route was getting to the three year age limit and needed to be updated. It should be a painless trip, if anything a little cramped and boring. 

It was 20 minutes out of Winton when he saw a man on the side of the road. 

He was walking in the same direction Mako was driving, stupid and dangerous. He slowed on approach just to be cautious since the guy was walking so close to the road. The man was apparently quick to notice him, because he whipped around with a grin and thrusted his thumb out for a pickup.

He was tall, with two prosthetic limbs on his right side. His arm dangled at his side, jointed fingers wiggling. His leg started at a knee socket that extended into a metal tube and ended in a yellow sneaker, but that wasn't why Mako couldn't look away. For whatever reason he had a pink lawn flamingo perched above his shoulders. Its legs jammed into the huge orange duffle backpack that he was hunched under. He had on a yellow T-shirt two sizes too big that proudly displayed a logo for a brand of seafood seasoning, that he tucked into a pair of black sport shorts. 

His face was all fang, or maybe snaggletooth because that's what his smile was. He had short uneven hair that shot straight up and back. Like he’d been walking in the wind all his life. Maybe he had. 

He stuck out his arm and pointed it at Mako’s car, the already wild grin growing wilder when he presumably noticed the cameras mounted on top. He bounced excitedly and used is free hand to point at himself as Mako neared. His arm following the car even as it zipped right past himm.

Not out of malice.

But between the guys sudden and bizarre presence and the job he had made obligation to, he’d just felt it right to keep driving. Didn't mean he didn't have questions. Like, where the fuck could that guy possibly be going? He didn't seem under any stress, quite the opposite in fact he seemed fucking elated. Had been walking before he even heard a car on the road. It was weird, everything about him.

The further he drove he only grew more curious, maybe even a little worried.

He would have been able to pick the guy up if he’d been in a commercial truck. That's the sort of thing that could fly in that line of work. However something about the expensive equipment built into this car felt all too corporate to permit any picking up of hitchhikers.

But, fuck it. The guy seemed harmless.

He found the button on the console to stop the cameras recording before making a U-turn on the empty highway. The GPS desperately tried to reroute him to which he willfully ignored. 

It took him a moment before he spotted the man again and when he did he was still walking on the wrong side of the road, still hunched under a lawn flamingo. This time he looked up with a scowl, squinting against the sun before he could recognize the car. 

His metal fingers quickly snatching a blunt from his mouth and tossing it far behind him. His face cracked into a huge grin and he crossed his arms across his chest with great production. Mako slowed again before making one more U-turn to get back on route. The man started talking before the window even started to roll down.

“Ta I knew I’d win you over!” He announced with a patchy and uneven voice. The moment the window was down he was leaning his head in as far as his massive bag would let him. 

“Where you headed?” Mako asked, straight to the point. The guy was acting chummy and he didn't want him to think that this had to be a sales pitch. Though it didn't matter cause he didn't even answer, he gawked at all the equipment and then reached his flesh arm through the open window to unlock the door. Pulling it open and leaning in. 

“What’s all this then, cobber? All this must’ve cost an arm an’ a leg!“ He looked at Mako expectantly, struggling to hold back a burst of laughter. When all he got was a blank expression, he waved his robotic arm. 

Still, Mako stared at him with disbelief. The hitchhiker sighed, muttering something under his breath as he took his bag off and pulled it onto the floorboard as he slunk into the passenger side seat. Mako was starting to have second thoughts, but the guy was so scrawny he wasn't feeling particularly threatened. But honestly, what wasn’t helping this guy’s case was the stench. 

The moment he’d stepped into the car the entire cab started to stink like highway dust and BO. Mako tried to give him the benefit of the doubt and say it was that ozone smell you get from being outside, but after a moment of the gangly stranger being in the passenger seat he couldn't deny the guy just stunk.

“Where you headed?” He asked again trying desperately to get this situation in check.

Still, the guy didn't answer. He was grinning tongue between his teeth and bent down digging through his bag. He took the flamingo out with great care before rifling through and removing several smaller bags, bundles of clothes and other, stale smelling belongings. 

 

A parody of contortionism to watch him so cramped between his junk and the cars expensive Google equipment. 

This might have been a terrible idea. Because Mako was starting to noticing that the guy wouldn't stop sniffing and rubbing viciously at his nose.

“Aha!” he squawked finally and pulled a CD jewel from his bag.

Smash Mouth Astro Lounge. The cover was at least, because what he pulled out of that was a white CD with sharpie marker writing on top. Mako didn't get a good enough look at what it said before it was being pushed into the CD player. The man fiddled with the buttons to turn the thing on.

“Next town over!” He looked up cockeyed and grinned.

That was Middleton. But he wasn't sure the man even knew that. 

He tapped it back into the Car’s GPS and it showed him the two and a half year old route again. About an an hour and 45 minutes away. Out of curiosity he hit the Walking icon, 34 hours. He didn't really have much time to wonder why this man was already a fourth of the way to his supposed destination, because Track One was starting. 

Whatever. He could make it to Middleton, he pressed the record button as he got back onto the road and picked up speed. The dude immediately wouldn't shut up.

“Google car, eh? Hows’at treachin’ ya? I’m tellin’ ya, mate, feels like I was just abducted by aliens, with tech like this! Oi, maybe not abducted, ‘cus I went willingly, didn’t I? Guess I did. Anyhoo, name’s Jamison, but my friends, enemies, and friend-enemies call me Jaime or Jai. ‘m not pick-- what’s this button do?””  
Mako squinted at the other man, who was screeching gleefully after turning on the wipers. He was waiting for a break to answer his first question, but it never came. It seemed this ‘Jamison’ wasn't even anticipating on this conversation being two sided.

Whatever, he could tune him out. It was gonna be annoying if the music stayed this loud though. He was just about to turn it down, social cues be damned, when Jamison broke into a deafening scream. 

Mako had been so startled he nearly lost his grip on the wheel. It was so loud, so incredibly loud and lasted so long that he could almost call it cathartic had he not just been completely blind sighted by it. He only just registered that the song screaming as well. His eyes darted between the road and Jamison. frantically trying to gauge the situation. He screamed until he ran out of breath, his voice getting raw and raspy before finally taking one quick breath to let out another, much shorter shout. His hand shot up and black chipped fingernails twisted the volume knob up to max. 

He was fully and completely ripped. Yelling song lyrics completely unabashed, prosthetic arm shredding an imaginary guitar. He’d yell over the music to ask him questions about the equipment, snake his long body into Mako’s personal space to try and get an eyeful of the monitors before putting his finger up and picking up where he left off screaming the songs lyrics. It was complete and utter chaos and Mako immediately hit the End Recording button and slowed to the side of the road. Jamison didn't even seem to notice until he turned off the CD player, and then the car entirely. His eyes shot up and his bottom lip pouted out in frustration. 

“Aha-” Mako started, shifting uncomfortably in the cramped space to face the him.

“Look, man. I don’t know what the fuck you think this is, but you can’t blast your shite music at an ear bleedingly loud volume.” Mako grunted menacingly. Jamison didn’t even seemed fazed, just looked annoyed. “This ain’t my car and if you fuck with any of this equipment, I could lose my job.”

All of a sudden Jamison looked distraught.

“I’m sorry, mate. Really, that was my bad, should’ve been more understanding, you being so kind an’ all. I can go a bit apeshit sometimes. Mum never gave me any after school snacks like the other kids growin’ up, ‘cus she always used to say I was crackers enough already!” He paused for a moment, tapping his scruffy chin and glancing around wildly. “‘n because she was a dero. Guess you could say I was a Dero Jr.!”

Mako blinked, thrown for a moment. Jamison seemingly took pity on him.

“Oi, I know, mate. I’m always this ballistic. You’ll get used to it.”

“Get used to it? What th--”

“But,” Jamison sang, thrusting a fist into the pocket of his shorts and digging around in there. Mako watched, transfixed by the strange display in front of him. “Since you’re being so kind n’ giving this bogan a ride, thought I’d help you out. Got a couple Big Pineapples with your name on ‘em.”

That's when the stranger whipped out a fat stack of cash, sorting through to find a wad of fifty-dollar notes and shoving the rest back into his pockets.

 

He sorted through the bills before handing Mako one bill between his two metal fingers. Jamison was trying to play him for a fool and it wasn't going well. The visual admission that he was carrying more than he was offering was so blatant. Mako assumed it was some scheme, but what would be the benefit?

Maybe he’s just stupid. 

“Howssit, mate? Does this strike ya’ fancy?” He offered, a brow cocked and grinned expectantly at him. The man’s lips were so cracked, Mako was surprised his lips weren’t a bloody mess from how wide he smiled. Jamison paused for a moment, looking almost apologetic. He pulled out another bill. “How’s one more? C’mon, mate.”

Jesus, this guy was stupid.

Mako rolled his eyes and snatched the bills from his hand.

“Fine.” He shoved the cash into his pocket, Jamison smiled leaning back in his chair again. Mako started the car again and Jamison’s arm came up to turn the CD player back on.

“Aha.” Mako started again and Jamison’s eyes shot back up in confusion.

“What's the hold up, mate?” he asked, his tone rang with some impatience. 

“Gonna need more compensation if you want to play that shit.” Mako sat unyielding even as the man let out a long exaggerated groan. He sounded like he was about to bargain again and Mako put a finger up to stop him.

“It’s another 50 for the music,” Mako watched the man start up and stopped him with another jab of his finger. “And it stays at 50 volume.” He added.

“That’s fucked up!” He raised his voice, more petulant than threatening. 

“Do you want a ride or not?”

They sat silent for a second staring at each other before Jamison finally broke. He huffed and rolled his eyes. He cried out in exasperation, fishing around in his pocket to whip out another bill.

“A’ight, fine. You run a hard bargain, mate. A steep fair!. But, if we can speak businessman to businessman, I probably would’ve charged ya’ extra too.

That made Mako chuckle. Businessman wasn't the word he’d use to describe either one of them. Jamison seemed pleased to have made him laugh, even if he wasn't sure why. He grinned again, and this time it was a little less obnoxious.

“There you go, ya’ sleazy bastard.” He offered up the second bill with a huff.

“Look who’s talking.” Mako shot back, snatching the bill from Jamison as he tittered. He started the car, and then the cameras and began to drive.  
The music was bad, no two ways about it. Ear-bleedingly bad. But it’d been a while since Mako had listened to this kind of trash. The screaming and screeching feedback was cathartic. He could see the appeal. Jamison put the volume on 52, but Mako pretended not to notice.

 

The remainder of the drive went fine. The music was on the whole time and Mako quickly learned that Jamison was even stranger than he thought. He would skip between the same three songs, all at different numbers. He’d replay the same one several times in a row before skipping across 13 tracks to play another. 

Okay, so the music wasn't that bad. It wasn't what Mako was used to but he could concede that it was more palatable at an appropriate volume. He almost asked about the song but between Jamison’s long unended tangents and the chaotic nature of each individual song, he decided he didn't have to ask. Figured it was just music the man enjoyed, supported by his dramatic lip syncs and excited air drumming.

Jamison’s entire aura was peculiar. His appearance, his cadence, his attitude. Getting all too comfortable in the passenger seat with his long legs -- well, his leg and pegleg -- propped up on the dashboard. The flamingo that he’d move to face the window, explaining that she liked to look out the window. The fact that he didn't even try to hide that he was flaking his nail polish all over the floor. 

Eventually, Mako did try to make conversation.

“So, what business do you have in Middleton? Kinda a quiet town.” He asked, during a lull between songs. Jamison, surprisingly turned down the music to a 35. It was too loud for conversation, but quiet enough that Mako could hear the ringing in his ears. The hitchhiker looked at him blankly for a moment, as if he didn’t understand the question. Then he cocked his head to the side, sticking a pinky in his ear, itching it, and removing it with a loud pop. He grinned at Mako.

“Never been, really. Just lookin’ for new clientele. If ya’ catch my drift,” He nudged Mako, winking. It must have been obvious that he didn’t understand, because he reached into his other pocket, and pulled out an unmarked bottle of pills. “Just selling a bit o’ happiness to some of the locals. Interested?”

 

Mako immediately tensed, shaking his head. Jamison just shrugged, tucked away the bottle, and went back to blasting his music. He hardly acknowledged him the rest of the ride.

When they finally reached the tiny town, Mako immediately pulled into the servo that was attached the the Middleton Hotel. Decided to leave the camera running until he was completely parked. He held up a finger so Jamison would wait before hopping out. He watched the monitor until it had one in-focus shot of the gas station before stopping the cameras and pulling the keys from the ignition. 

“We’re here.” He added as he opened the door, stepping out. Jamison shot up, looking around before pushing his door open. Again he spent a moment half in the car and half out just shoving all of his belongings back into his bag, and again taking care to mount the flamingo securely on top. Pushing the door shut with his prosthetic leg.

“The Hotel is right there by the way.” Mako pointed behind him as he started filling up the tank, only because he was unsure Jamison knew where he was. 

The man whirled around and looked back in confirmation. When he turned back around he put his hands on his hips. “You know, while that was incredibly cheap of you to not let me have a ripper of a time-” He smiled shouldering his bag. “-you’re a stand up bloke.” He smiled, smacking a heavy metal hand onto his shoulder. “I’ll see you around, mate!”

Mako didn’t respond; didn't have too because Jamison was already walking away.

He made the rest of the two hour drive to Boulia with the windows down. No music. He just wanted to digest the situation. It was over now, and he learned his lesson. He would have called it immediate karma if he wanted to get dramatic. But in reality it just felt strange. He had no doubt in his mind that would maybe be the most interesting thing that’ll ever happen at this job, and it lasted all of an hour and 45 minutes. Didn't even get a good look at what the CD said to tell a funny enough story about it. If he ever told stories. 

The sun was setting when he made it to Boulia. He did a bit of street driving while mapping for a place to stay the night. Keeping an eye on the monitor for when the stretch of long evening shadows started making the pictures look unprofessional. The GPS lead him to ‘Australian Hotel Boulia’. A small orange building with a green roof. 

After checking in and making his way to the room he dropped his bag by the door. Used his phone to ‘clock out’ before falling back onto the bed, its old box spring groaned under him and he groaned with it. The hotel room seemed a little dusty, so he decided he’d leave his inhaler on the bedside table for the night, just to be careful. 

His temples pounded; his ponytail was too tight. He finally let his hair down and cracked his neck. Later he’d shower and order room service, watch the hotel TV and go to bed. He was thinking about the drive tomorrow. Planning on waking up early to make it to Mount Isa first thing. It was a 4 hour drive but he wouldn't have to spend much time with mapping in the city since that had been last updated just this year. He'd have to call in to find out if they wanted him to do anymore driving after that. 

He closed his eyes and sighed deep, could finally rest now that he’d set an approximate schedule in his head. Should be easy enough, boring enough without bizarre hitchhikers. 

Bizarre, well-off, prosthetic limbed hitchhikers.

 

 

 

.


	2. Dajarra

Mako spent the early morning recording a few streets through Boulia, hardly awake and sipping his disgusting gas station black coffee. He considered the risk of drifting off at the wheel so he didn’t have to finish it 

The climb up to Mount Isa was already painfully boring, but that’s how it was meant to be. Long boring drives kept him busy, kept him occupied. He’d learned quickly that the best way to cope with these drives was shutting your brain off. He could almost call it meditation. But it didn't come easy when the sun was right in your eyes and the car was uncomfortably tight around you. He felt more and more irritable with every cattle guard he had to loudly drive over. 

Sometimes to make the driving less unbearable he’d scope out places to maybe settle down. That’s what people his age did. But there wasn't much of that happening now. He’d been on this long stretch of highway for quite awhile now and there was absolutely nothing out here, just red dirt and scrubby trees.

In his rut of irritability and mild discomfort he thought about pocket dimensions. Or maybe universes? He didn't have the knowledge on hand of what differentiated the two or which one fit his description the best. Just the idea of endless trees and sand and asphalt, never a servo or a roadhouse to break up the monotony, not that you’d ever run out of fuel. The thought of becoming a fleshy mass inside a metal shell flying down an never ending highway was enough to stop himself cold. You’re fucking delirious. 

 

The GPS broke the silence. 

In 5 Kilometers your destination is on the right. Dajarra Roadhouse, 1 Lethem St, 4825.

That's where he had planned to refuel. He shook the mental fog away and began slowing down. The road up ahead was an abrupt left turn that lead straight into the tiny desert community and there was hardly a transition between national road and city street.

When he turned in he decided he’d map the town before filling up. It only had 6 streets and the Dajarra Roadhouse was on the one he’d take to leave town. The smaller towns out this far hadn't been updated just as long as the roads hadn’t so he figured this would be expected of him even if it wasn't specifically stated in their contract. 

He almost laughed. 

He was nearly certain that the contract he did make with them wasn’t 100% legitimate. They really didn't want him taking a prius into the outback, but after offering to start work immediately he was on the road within days and he was pretty sure he was being underpaid. However it was still more than he was making driving the commercial trucks. They’d even given him a card to cover gas and lodging. And they were at least kind enough to ignore the spot on his record.

Dajarra was a cute and incredibly tiny town. It made Mako wonder what one’s daily routine was like in a town of such small proximity. He’d flossed through its entirety in under 10 minutes and he almost wished he had an excuse to stay a little longer before heading back on the road. All of these cute, colorful buildings were a feast for his eyes. He didn't see many people but the few he did all turned and watched him pass, their eyes shooting up to the towering camera stand. 

Eventually Mako made his way to the roadhouse. He pulled into a pump and paused the camera recording before he got out and started pumping the gas. It felt good to stretch his legs as he walked towards the doors of the roadhouse, a bell rang as he walked in. He went through a few aisles. Some of the local products piqued his interest but he felt like using the card for non-essentials could get him into trouble, so he just grabbed a water bottle and approached the counter to pay for the gas. He asked the man behind the counter where the bathroom was.

It stunk like piss and the bottoms of his sandals stuck to the tile with each step. Unpleasant bathrooms were to be expected on the road but he still hurried along with his business before making his way over to the sink.

He allowed himself to take a moment. Splashing water onto his face just to fully wake himself up for the hours of driving that remained. He looked up and stared into the mirror, the grime in the corners of the glass would unfocus if he looked himself dead in the eye.

This was always a little confronting, and not because of the non-decision he’d made this morning to wear camo cargo pants, a white tank top, and pink Hawaiian shirt. Confronted with how he looked now, he felt like seeing himself was like seeing a roommate that was hardly home.

Something had to change. He pulled his bun loose. Pale hair falling around his face, creased from the hair tie and still damp from his shower this morning. He glanced back up to the mirror. That would have to suffice. 

He reached for the doorknob to make his way out, pulling the door open and taking a single step out before someone crashed straight into him. He felt the agitation and embarrassment immediately, people seemed to have no patience for the space he occupied, even if they were the ones to invade it, and he was preparing for a quip.

But a quip never came. Instead he had come eye-to-eye with a pair of soulless, black eyes. His head clashed with something plastic and pink. Good fucking lord, was he not in the mood for this. His nostrils flared, and before he could even get a syllable out, he looked down. The first thing he saw was wild blond hair and that unforgettable grin.

This time the hitchhiker was wearing green basketball shorts, a Kikkoman Soy Sauce T-shirt under a yellow button up and the same dirty yellow sneakers. He smile was instantaneous, fingers wiggling excitedly as he tried to gather his thoughts, a noise of struggle whining in his throat like a stalled engine before he finally got himself right.

“Google mate!” Jamison blurted. “How ya been? Can’t even see ya bottom half,--” He giggled, gesturing to the camo shorts. “--looks like you’re missin’ all your good bits!”

Mako was stunned. It wasn't déja vu but maybe something synonymous. He thought of the hours he spent in massive solitude, the highway hypnosis. To suddenly be in front of the man that he left hundreds of kilometers back. It didn't feel real. 

“Wh--how the fuck are you here?” Mako asked.

Jamison’s expression became coy, planting his hands on his hips.

“Used my devilishly good looks to catch a cabbie after a few hours.” He giggled and took a step back eyeing him up. “Well don’t look so surprised; you could’ve done the same. Quite an oogle you are, mate.” He grinned gesturing to all of him. Mako was still in shock, hardly registering the compliment.

“Why did you tell me to drop you off in Middleton if you were just gonna catch another ride immediately? I could’ve given you a ride.” Mako asked, he wasn't trying to pry into his personal business but he was so perplexed that he needed an answer to let this encounter rest. “My whole job is to drive, man.”

Jamison seemed surprised by the offer. He raised an eyebrow at him, assessing him once again.

“Uh- Well, you didn’t seem like the type to wanna wait on little ol’ me--” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “--conducting business ‘specially after ya got all squirrelly when I pulled out my merchandise. Thought maybe Google bloke wasn't interested.”

Mako found he couldn’t really argue with that. He was uncomfortable. He was mildly impressed that with how much Jamison yabbered on that he’d actually picked up on that. The prolonged silence allowed for Jamison to do exactly that again. He talked in run-on sentences, his hands fiddling with the straps of his bag.

“Sides’ no need to worry the cabbie was a fine guy, wasn’t that interestin’, though. Kept goin’ on and on and on about how much of a dog his wife was. Bit of a jumped up mongrel, if I’m honest with ya. At least for a cabbie,” He scoffed, waving his hand dismissively. Then he eyes unfocused to stare at the space in front of him. Then he appeared to be swatting at an invisible fly. Mako huffed a laugh at the sight. Jamison looked animated, like he put great practice into his mannerisms even though Mako was certain he didn't. 

“Anyhoo, I know how you like your deals, mate, so I’ll cut ‘em off at the pass. I’m willing to pay for another fare, if you’re willin’ to have me. Seemed pretty keen on it earlier” He cocked a grin. 

Mako hated that. Hated that he left the request open ended, like Jamison knew he would concede and he STILL gave him an out. He was about to lean into his pocket or maybe his bag to pull out the wad of money but Mako stopped him. 

“Where are you going?” Mako asked this time, he put him on the spot, had no scream or music to hide behind.

“How about…. however far you’ll have me?” He grinned, shifting on his feet slightly. “You gotta drop me in a city, though! I’ve had enough of getting dropped off on the side of the damn road.” It was when Jamison said things like that, did Mako feel not too terrible about agreeing to this. The money was enough of a justification. Maybe it was making up for whatever Google could be cutting from his budget. 

“Fine. You’ll pay me when we’re done-”  
Mako demanded after a short pause. 

Jamison looked relieved, but Mako put up a finger to stop him. “But, the down payment for the music still stands.” The barter removed a layer. It made him more comfortable, back on his playing field. 

Jamison sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Was hoping you’d forget about that one.” His grin betrayed his tone.

“Give it to me when we get back to the car.” Mako added raising his arm to indicate he was trying to past him.

“Get back?” Jamison repeated flattening as much as he could against the wall of the narrow hallway to let Mako pass. 

“Aren't you going to the bathroom?” He asked.

A look of realization before Jamison tittered and shook his head “I was only goin in to do a line, but just the sight of you’s got me wobbly enough.” Mako blinked, then turned and started walking out. He decided to ignore that one.

Jamison followed close behind him on their way out of the roadhouse and back towards the car. Mako knew it wasn’t very professional to offer him another ride but with two hour drive ahead of him he couldn't deny that the prospect of Jamison in the passenger seat was leagues more exciting than another mindless crawl through the desert.

It only took a moment to remove the pump from the car but by the time he looked back up Jamison was kicking his shoes into broken glass scattered across the concrete. All his balance on his prosthetic leg while he pressed the toe of his left shoe into little piles he’d kicked up. He seemed satisfied with the crunching sound. 

Mako watched him for a brief moment before Jamison sensed he was being watched.

“So...what’s your name, mate?”

“Can you leave your bag in the trunk?” 

They asked at the same time, but Jamison replied immediately.  
“What for?” He asked, hands shooting up to hold the straps at his shoulders. 

“So there isn't a bunch of illegal shit all over the passenger side of my Google car.” Mako deadpanned. “Just bring your CD and whatever else you need.” 

Jamison raised a brow and pursed his lips like he was considering arguing. He seemed to justify Mako’s response in his head though, because while his expression remained annoyed his smile turned casual. 

“Yeah, sure mate.” He shrugged his bag off his shoulders setting it down on the ground. Mako walked over to the back of the car and popped the trunk, waiting for Jamison to grab his essentials. He watched him set the lawn flamingo aside before digging his left arm in to fish out his CD. He zipped the bag up and Mako helped to lift it into the trunk. He didn't have any trouble doing so but he was surprised to find just how heavy the bag truly was. 

Jamison stood back up, considerably taller out from under the weight of his bag. The colorful CD jewel in one hand and flamingo tucked in the crook of his arm. Mako’s eyes lingered on the lawn ornament but he chose not to say anything. 

He turned around getting back into the car and turning the ignition. Jamison came up on the passenger side and, like last time, yanked the door open and slammed it behind him before flopping down and getting all too comfortable. He unfurled his bony wrist in Makos direction, a 50 dollar note between his fingers. 

Mako took it and watched him pop open the case and take the CD out, this time getting a clear view of what was written on top. 

High Octane Crazy Mix. 

Mako fiddled with the monitor to start up the GPS for Mount Isa and starting the camera recording once again. Jamison slid the CD into the player. 

“My name ’s Mako-” He nearly missed it, probably would have if he wasn't just turning to properly introduced himself. Jamison’s finger bringing something resting in the CD case to his tongue. If he knew he had been caught he didn't act like it.

“Ooh! Like the shark?” he asked excitedly but Mako didn't miss a beat.

“What the fuck was that?” He asked voice getting sharp.

“What the fuck was what?” 

“What did you just put in your mouth?” Mako snapped, he’d given him a chance and he’d immediately flouted it.

“You said you didn't want illegal shit in the passenger seat and I forgot it was in the case! Just respecting yer rules, mate.” Jamison defended, talking around the tab that was trying to escape from under his tongue. “Sides’ you get in trouble for carrying it, not being on it! Arrested for tripping--pshawh!.” He added as if the point he’d made was indisputable logic. 

“You could’ve thrown it out of the fucking car!” Mako fumed. He wanted so bad to believe Jamison wasn't playing him for a fool They stared at each other for a few seconds, a heavy silence between them.

Finally, Jamie shrugged his shoulders forward. “M’ sorry mate. I’ll toss in a little extra to make it up to you.” Again he spoke awkwardly around the blotter in his mouth and it made Mako’s blood boil that he didn't even have the decency to spit it the fuck out. He had half a mind to kick him out, leave him in Dajarra and just get on with his job.

“Mako, mate I'm sorry but I promise I can make it worth your while.” Jamison started to dig into his pockets. The use of his name and the tinge of urgency in his tone made his stomach knot. He took a deep breath through his nose and looked away. 

“Stop.” Jamison’s eyes snapped up and he withdrew his hand from his pocket. He looked worried. 

“If you start acting a goddamn fool, I am kicking you out.” He threatened. Mako rolled his eyes back towards the road and pulled out from the roadhouse, moving to get back onto the highway. Without looking at the other man, he said. “Now play your trash music.”

Jamison let out quiet sigh of relief before giggling and saluting with two fingers. 

“I’ll be on my best behavior.”


	3. Mount Isa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vomiting TW

The drive started out fine. Within mere moments of leaving Dajarra they were swallowed up by the imposing vastness, but Mako didn’t get lost in it this time. This time Jamison kept him well occupied from the passenger seat. He never got a word in edgewise, but he was also content to just listen to him spout off about his previous escapades in Dajarra–about how he nearly got arrested at the post office for trying to ship drugs to his mates back in Melbourne. He wasn't expecting to find such a stupid story so amusing, but Jamison proved talented in his storytelling.   
  
He also wasn't expecting Jamison’s recount to be cut so short by a sudden onslaught of vomiting.   
  
Managed to throw up on himself before Mako even had time to pull over. He rushed through the motions of shutting off the camera and putting them in park just as the smaller man went bursting through the door to empty his guts on the side of the road.   
  
He was bent over, heaving for a while. Mako began to worry that he’d be ill for the rest of the drive. He remembered someone telling him once that water helped with nausea so he fished around for the bottle he’d bought from the roadhouse and got out of the car to wait for his passenger to stop hacking up his guts. He got physically sympathetic watching Jamison dry heave so violently, his own throat tightening.  
  
Watching people throw up was something Mako was hardened to. He’d spent a considerable amount of his youth at metal shows and it wasn't completely uncommon to see people spill their guts outside of venues after drinking too much. But that wasn't what Jamie was doing; all that he was throwing up was foam. It wasn't like something had just upset his stomach– he was throwing up when there was nothing _in_ his stomach.   
  
He wasn't sure how to go about a two hour drive with someone who was actually sick. Especially considering he’d have to stop the cameras every time they'd pull over. He shifted his feet, anxiously glancing up at the towering camera stand.   
  
He heard Jamison spit behind him and then rasp out a laugh. 

 

“Well, that’ll wake you right up, ey mate?” He sniffled, wiping his runny nose and looking back towards Mako. His hands were resting on his knees and his face was flushed and wet with tears.    
  
“M’not cryin’ just so you know.” He grinned up at him as if to prove it.   
  
“I know how it is.” Mako held out the water and Jamie took it with a trembling hand. He uncapped the bottle and stood up to take furious gulps, popping off briefly with a gasp to offer an out of breath “Thanks, mate.”   
  
Mako watched the chords of his throat strain as he drank, eyebrows furrowed. “Mhm.”    
  
Jamison took one last swish to clean his mouth before spitting a final time into the dirt. He looked frail. All of him was trembling a bit still and he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and then the tears with his fingers.    
  
“Are you gonna be okay?” Mako asked cooly. He was trying to sound consoling and not pushy since the last thing a sick person needed was stress. “Can you make it to Mount Isa?”    
  
“Ahh yeah, yeah of course, I always get sick on the come up. Completely natural.” He assured with a giggle, waving his hand dismissively. His eyes focused out on the horizon before darting up at the sky, staring for a moment, the corners of his mouth pulled upwards. “‘Sides, now I can see the outback for the trees.”    
  
Mako was surprised to feel relief from that statement. Thankful that they could at least get on with the drive.    
  
“Did you want to change shirts?” He deadpanned, keeping his face stoic since he half expected Jamie to find a way to make an innuendo out of that, but surprisingly he didn't seem to even notice. He seemed too distracted.   
  
“The ground is so red and the sky is so blue” He said in lieu of a response.   
  
Mako had to hand it to him. The ground  _ was  _ red and the sky  _ was _ blue, but it had always been.   
  
“Yeah, we’re in Australia.” He said dryly. “Tends to look like that.” 

 

Jamie snorted and started shrugging out of his yellow overshirt, turning his back to slink towards the trunk. Apparently he had heard him.   
  
When he came back to unlock the trunk he saw Jamison strategically struggling his way out of his undershirt in an attempt to avoid any more contact with the part he’d thrown up on.    
  
He was scrawny, Mako observed.    
  
His skin was tanned, dusted with freckles scars, but most surprisingly a tattoo on his shoulder. It was skull shaped and heavily shaded but Mako couldn't place what it was, decided he shouldn't care what it was  _ and _ he shouldn't be staring.    
  
Jamie bunched his shirt into a ball, leaning forward to investigate the trunk before placing it carefully in the corner, as if that helped the fact.   
  
He shut the trunk himself and then spun back to retrieve the yellow button up from where he’d discarded it on the ground. He shook the dirt out of it before pulling it back on. Managing four of the eight buttons with one hand before he seemed to settle.   
  
“‘pologies for that little interruption!” He straightened out and gave Mako an enthusiastic thumbs up.    
  
A facsimile of the first time he’d seen him.    
  
When they got back in the car Jamison immediately got squirrely. Before Mako even put the keys back in the ignition he watched as Jamison fidgeted around to try and situate himself, like he was having trouble getting comfortable suddenly.   
  
“Everything alright?” He asked with an edge to his tone, he couldn't really afford for him to say no, but he was starting to worry that Jamison only said he was fine for his sake.    
  
“Your own brain is real powerful, mate. Y’know like–I feel like...if I think about getting sick I’ll get sick again.” Jamison responded, shifting uncomfortably in the passenger seat.    
  
“Are you thinking about getting sick again?” Mako asked cautiously.    
  
Jamison paused, narrowing his focus on the dashboard and making a tense face. Mako watched on warily, but eventually Jamison shook his head   
  
“No–well wait. Give me somethin’ else to think about.”

 

Mako didn’t even have to think twice.  
  
“Your flamingo.”  
  
“Ah-ha! Samantha!” He completely lit up, smiling wide and orienting the lawn ornament to face him.   
  
“Samantha?” Mako asked, glancing over briefly just in time to see him pinching the flamingos face. The flimsy pink plastic warping inward was admittedly amusing, in the most juvenile way imaginable. “S’a pretty name.”   
  
“She’s my ride or die.” He grinned, finally pulling his left leg under him and settling back into his seat. Mako made sure to leave the water bottle in his vicinity.  
  
The rest of the drive was uneventful. It wasn't completely obvious that Jamie had been tripping since he’d kept surprisingly well-mannered, but perhaps that was evidence enough. He’d stare out the window primarily, pulling himself away only to start the same song over and over again. A song that he’d prefaced with, “This one’s also on my trip mix!”  
  
Occasionally he’d cut his eyes towards Mako. The first time he did it, Mako had turned to look back at him, thinking he was trying to get his attention, only to have him look away. The second time, Mako kept his eyes on the road.  
  
It was hard to pretend like you didn't know someone was staring at you, but for some odd reason he didn’t care to deter him. He just wondered what it was Jamison was seeing– what sort of visuals he was getting off him.  
  
He tried to remember the sorts of things he’d seen when he did psychedelics about a lifetime ago.  
  
The majority of his visual memories were from the sky and the posters in his friends room, but if he tried he could remember the common theme of what other people’s faces looked like. Either vaguely recognizable features that sat like tissue paper in a whirlpool, or thin fiber-like rainbows that stretched into grids framing every contour.  
  
But who’s to say that was universal– there was no telling what Jamison was seeing. The way that he was looking at him, though, it must’ve been something real mesmerizing.  
  
They passed a power station and several gated properties as they neared Mount Isa, the screen on the center console lighting up with its whole set of pictures, taken by whichever driver had already mapped the city. There were also suddenly an abundance of telephone poles and light posts of which Jamison perked up at the sight of.  
  
“Oh we’re getting close huh? Signs of mankind literally sprouting up around us.” He broke into a fit of giggles. Mako tried to decipher that. Everything he’d been saying sounded like a mistranslation into English. Sounded like something your brain would say and then you’d tried to put into coherent words.   
  
“How much more driving d’you got to do?” He leaned over in a futile attempt to get a glimpse at the screen.   
  
“None.”  
  
“So now what?” Jamison asked, sitting up straight in the seat.  
  
“Now what? I was gonna drop you off.”  
  
“Yeah all right. Aaaand then where you headed?” Jamison pried.   
  
“I’m...gonna call my higher ups and ask where they want me next.” He answered to quell the man. “Did you want me to drop you off anywhere specific?”  
  
He didn't answer. Just squinting like he was deep in thought before shaking his head.   
  
Mako wasn't sure how to interpret that.   
  
“Jamison?”  
  
“Yeah–just wherever you stop is fine.” He finally answered, but he didn't seem finished. Mako waited for him to continue. Jamison shifted in his seat, fully facing him with Samantha tucked under his arm. Mako watched him out of the corner of his eye.   
  
“If they ask you to drive more, could–could I stay hitched a tad longer?”   
  
Mako tensed for a moment before shooting him a confused look.  
  
“Didn’t you want to come here?” He asked.  
  
“Well yeah but I'm not exactly a fan of these bigger cities.”  
  
“You’re a drug dealer…”  
  
“A _traveling salesman_ to bogans in small towns! M’not some sort of door to door peddler.” Jamison seemed offended by the very implication of dealing drugs.  
  
Mako wasn't sure that that made much sense and he sighed loudly in exasperation. He started to slow down as he turned onto busier city streets.  
  
“Mate listen.” Jamie started, “M’not gonna _make you_ take me, but I’ll pay you for another fare. I’m made of money here, possum. Dealin’s a hobby.”   
  
Mako didn't answer. He needed a second to think, least he make a regrettable decision just because someone was putting him on the spot– he was above that. Jamison must have picked up on his tenseness because he settled back down in his seat and turned back towards the window.   
  
They crossed a bridge heading right on the main street. The river that ran through the city was looking more like a creek this time of year. Mako pulled them into a street parking spot nearby, unclipping his seatbelt and reaching for the car door.  
  
“I'm just making a call.” He explained when Jamison shot him an appraising look. Walking around the front of the car and towards the sidewalk, he called the number on the back of the business card.   
  
Jamison watched Mako pace outside of the car. His voice was muffled but he could clearly make out the tone of his professional employee voice. He tittered a bit, alternating between watching the cars pass them on the street, the people going about their days, and Mako on the phone.    
  
He looked fascinating; the contrast of colors and patterns were a feast for his eyes, and the camo cargos and pink hawaiian reminded him of a flower. He especially stood out now as he walked circles around on the sidewalk–the only drip of color against a washed out gradient of concrete. When he got back in the car, Jamison turned his whole body to look at him.   
  
“They want me to stay here for the night, and then they’re gonna call me in the morning to give me my next route.” Mako explained, pinching the bridge of his nose in agitation. They were asking him to clock out and it did nothing but convinced him further that they were trying to get away with undercutting him. Paying him part time hours when he was perfectly willing and capable of a full time position. Jamison pulled him from his thoughts as he cleared his throat.  
  
“So what's the plan?”   
  
“The plan?” Mako parroted, his brow raised. “I’m staying here till tomorrow. I don't know what to tell you here, mate.”   
  
“Well can’t I come with you tomorrow then?” Jamison asked, clearly trying to problem solve. Mako raised his brow and stared at the man.  
  
“And what, meet me at my motel before I leave?”  
  
“Or we share your room-” Mako made a face and Jamison immediately shut his mouth and began backtracking. “- _or_ I could just deal the streets till morning. If I get tired I'll find a bench to crash on.” He added indifferently.   
  
“Didn't you just say you didn't like to deal in big cities?” Mako grilled but Jamison tilted his head defensively.  
  
“I don't like being _stranded_ in them, if it’s just for the night I can tolerate it.” He dropped back now into his seat, still meeting his eyes but physically backing off to convey nothing but casualness. “‘sides’ ‘m going to pay you, Mako.”   
  
Mako stared at him, assesing him. He always had exactly what to say ready to go, always phrasing it exactly how he needed to hear it. He couldn't say he was unwilling to spend more hours on the road with him, but he was also reluctant to knowingly let him sleep on the street.  
  
He thought about their situation for a long moment and Jamison actually let him, sitting quietly, his eyes roving over Mako’s face as he stewed it over.   
  
“ _If_ you plan on spending most of the night out dealing... we can share the room.”  
  
Jamison’s eyes lit up for half a second but he was sure to approach with caution as not to make Mako second guess his decision.   
  
“Oh yeah mate, I can be out till real _real_ late, give you all the ‘me time’ you need-” he punched his shoulder lightly. “- and I’ll slip in real quiet, you won't hear a _thing!_ ” He grinned wide, clearly pleased with this offer. Mako could only hope it’d be as smooth as he described.  
  
He grumbled and put the keys back into the ignition. Jamison vibrated excitedly in his seat.  
Mako only had to drive a tick further up the street to find a place to stay.  
  
Central Point Motel. Three and a half stars with the cheapest rooms in the city.   
  
When they parked, Jamison followed him out, Samantha in tow, as they made their way to the trunk so he could retrieve his bag. Mako had to point at the balled up shirt to remind Jamison to get it out of the trunk.   
  
They went inside to check in, Mako plainly aware of how Jamie would so easily fall into step behind him. The clerk had no reaction to the pair booking the single bed and she handed Mako the room key without trouble. They walked all the way around the building and to the room so Jamison would know where it was. Mako let him come in briefly to use the bathroom.  
  
The room was nice at least. The cinder block walls were clean and the green and blue striped bedding was balancing out its dullness. Mako set his own bag down by the bed and walked to the window to pull the blinds back and let in the natural light.    
  
“You’re sleeping on the couch.” He mentioned when he heard the bathroom door open.  
  
“Sounds good to me.” Jamison gave him a cool smile and leaned down to shoulder his bag. He stood in wait, glancing at the room key in Mako’s hand.  
  
“Just knock when you get here, I’ll wake up.” he answered, Jamison shooting him a cursory glance before ultimately nodding.   
  
“M’gonna leave Samantha here if it's all the same to you, mate.”  He asked, shifting her in his arm and meeting his eyes.  
  
“That’s fine.” He watched him place the lawn ornament down and felt a sense of finality. Having already agreed to let him share the room, the act of leaving him with one of his prized possessions seemed to seal the deal.   
  
He watched Jamison leave, giving him a curt nod in response to his awkward wave goodbye, shutting the door behind him, and leaving him in solitude.    
  
He hung around the room for a bit, investigating the kitchenette, watching the weather channel. After several hours he made a trip across the street for a bite to eat. He found a kebab place and settled for skewers of grilled vegetables since they didn't have a decent vegetarian option.  He decided to walk around a few blocks before going back to the motel, where he watched more TV, jacked off, changed clothes, and laid back in bed with every intention of falling asleep.   
  
Instead, he spent hours lying motionless in bed with eyes closed, completely awake and unable to shut his brain off. He rolled onto his other side and spent another few hours just lying there.   
  
When he finally admitted his defeat and opened his eyes the first thing he was met with was the factory painted eyes of the flamingo. _Samantha._

  
The one variable that was keeping him from truly shutting his brain off. Samantha’s dead, black eyes stared at him from across the room. Lights danced off her neck as cars passed by the window. She acted as a reminder that something was missing. He’d already spent a handful of hours just pretending to be asleep in different positions and now he dropped, defeatedly onto his back to stare at the ceiling. Even if he was losing sleep he firmly tried to believe that this at least constituted as rest.  
  
When the knock came, Mako stayed in bed for just a moment to give off the illusion that he hadn't been lying awake all night waiting. It was a much heavier set of knocks that got him rolling out of the stiff sheets to make his way to the door. The lock unclicked loudly and he swung the door open blinking blearily at Jamison with tired eyes.  
  
He looked off-beat, his hair considerably messier than it had been when he last saw him in the afternoon. His eyes wide and piercing in contrast to the dark bags underneath them. Jamison gave him an unhurried once over.  
  
“You wear socks to bed? That’s weird.” He took a confident step forward but Mako didn't budge. They stayed in eachothers proximity for a moment before Mako remembered that he’d agreed to this. Jamison smelled like secondhand smoke and other people’s homes, and this close up he could see just how blown his pupils were.   
  
Finally he side stepped so Jamison could come in. His flesh hand came up to pat Mako’s shoulder as he passed him, making a beeline for the couch.  
  
“You think you know a guy and then he surprises you with somethin’ like that!”  Jamison added, dropping his bag to the floor before flopping forward onto the couch.  
  
Mako never even had to turn the lights on.  
  
Throughout the rest of the early morning hours he listened to Jamison. He’d started to shuffle around after Mako had gotten back in bed and at some point even rolled off of the couch and onto the floor to fiddle around with his bag.   
  
Mako’s first thought was that he was looking for more drugs, but after listening for a second longer and being a little less critical it sounded like he was just changing clothes. He continued to fiddle around longer and Mako sat motionless listening, trying to piece together what each noise meant he was doing.   
  
Not out of anything other than boredom he told himself.   
  
He found it difficult to sleep even now. Anticipating his return all night had kept him restless and now, his mere presence in the room was impossible to ignore because of his constant shuffling. And yet, despite all of this he couldn't necessarily say he was regretting this.   
  
That's what kept him from resting.   
  
He couldn't pretend to be disrupted, because had he really tried to stop this situation from playing out? The answer was a resounding _No_ and he decided he wasn't ready to confront that topic right now, least he any dig deeper and conclude that maybe a part of him wanted the company.   
  
He must have eventually fallen asleep because the next time he opened his eyes it was to a phone call. He jolted up out of bed and answered the call trying not to sound like he’d just woken up. As suspected, it was about his new route.   
  
When the call ended, he dropped his phone back onto the bedside table. He couldn't have gotten much sleep. He gave himself one mournful moment of lying still before he rose up out of bed to start rifling quietly through his bag for a change of clothes. He put a little more thought into his decision of cargo shorts and a turquoise short sleeve.  
  
Initially he avoided looking in the couch's direction, but on his way to the bathroom he nearly tripped over the man's prosthetic limbs lying discarded on the floor. When his eyes shot up he was surprised to find that he’d wound up using the couch cushions as his blanket and his bag as his pillow. So that explained the all ruckuss he’d heard last night. Mako felt a pang of regret that he hadn't even considered he’d need a blanket.  
  
Stepping over the limbs, he quietly crossed the room again to the bathroom, locking the door behind him and avoiding an interaction with the mirror. He took his time, just standing under the stream of hot water before going about the motions of actual showering, and even that he took his time with.  
  
He brushed his teeth and combed his hair in front of the foggy mirror and it left him feeling  nostalgic.   
  
Like being a kid again when his mom would have to turn their bathroom into a steam room for his asthma attacks. He’d always be tired then too, pulled out of bed because he was struggling so loudly to breathe.   
  
Eventually though, the mirror did unfog and when it did he made the decision to wear his hair down, even going so far as to dig into his toiletries bag to find his gold stud earrings. They were subtle changes, but it was enough to make him feel like today he’d at least put an effort in.   
  
He emerged from the bathroom about an hour after he’d initially woken up, and it proved, as he walked back out into the room, that in that time Jamison had woken up and taken up residence on the bed.  
  
He was lying stretched out atop of the covers, still unmade from when Mako had woken up. His ‘Prayformymarriage.org’ shirt was way too big for him and the black sport shorts from primary school gym were, evidently, too small.   
  
They stared at each other for several quiet moments. Mako well aware that he’d passed the threshold constituting an excusable amount of time staring, but Jamison hadn't stopped either. He looked Impish stretched across the bed, the lack of limbs doing nothing to take that away from him. The silence stretched as his eyes darted up and down Mako’s form before settling on his face.   
  
“What, did you forget my name?” Jamison huffed with mock offense, conscious of how this must all look.    
  
“Real funny, Jackson.” Mako deadpanned, resisting the urge to watch his face screw up in confusion. Instead he crossed the room to tidy up his bag. “We’re heading to Normanton, checkout is at Noon-” He started, glancing at the bedside clock.   
10:13 AM  
  
“ - but we’ll go as soon as you have your things together.”  
  
Jamison sat completely up to watch him. Mako was finished packing in mere moments so he made his way to the kitchenette to negotiate with the coffee maker. He found himself surprisingly content in the indolent morning energy of the motel room.  
  
He watched, from the corner of his eye as Jamison scooted towards the edge of the bed to retrieve his prosthetics.  
  
“Could I trouble you into making me a cup?” He asked after the machine started to whirr. Wordlessly, Mako grabbed the second complimentary mug, handing the first full cup to his passenger.  
  
“Aw, cheers Michael.”   
  
Mako smirked, rolling his eyes.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	4. Detour

  
The pair left the room after finishing their coffees. Mako checked them out of the motel and they made their way across the lot. Jamie, without even being asked, put his bag in the trunk before making a quick stop at a servo to fill up.  
  
Jamison unrolled the passenger side window to stick his head out and look over at Mako.  
  
“So you say we’re going to Normanton right? Where’sat at?”  
  
“Near the coast. It’ll take us about and hour and a half to get to Cloncurry and then four hours to Normanton.”  
  
“Wait, did you say Cloncurry?”  
  
“Yeah. Why, are you wanted there?”  
  
Jamison snorted at Mako’s nerve and shook his head.  
  
“No, but if I'm not mistaken there's an old uranium mine off the road on the way to Cloncurry.”  
  
Mako blinked at him from where he was pumping the gas. Of course he’d know about an abandoned uranium mine off the road in the middle of Queensland.  
  
“What about it?” He finally asked; Jamison swung his arm out the window to rest his chin on, tilting his head to the side.  
  
“Well, if you wanted to see it I bet we could find it. Gotta a nose for these things, ya know!”  
  
The pump jolted in Mako’s hand, excusing him from a response as he turned around to pay. He could feel Jamison’s eyes follow him, watching him as he made his way back around the car and into the driver seat. He tapped idly at the monitor.  
  
“Awe come on mate, it could be fun! Little off-road action, kicking up some dust. Besides its not far off the street!” Jamison bumped the back of his metal fingers on Mako’s shoulder.  
  
“I’m not exploring an abandoned mine.” Mako grumbled, putting his foot down. Still, Jamison didn't seem deterred, instead he smiled. “I’ve got a job to do.”  
  
“We’re not going underground! I’m in no better shape to go spelunking than you mate.” He gestured to the both of them. “Besides, it's more of a quarry.”  
  
Mako was unconvinced.  
  
“Come on! Just a quick stop on the road for us to stretch our legs. It could even be your lunch break! Sit back, have a little picnic.” His tone was lighthearted and persuasive. Like he knew the answer was yes and he was just trying to sweeten the deal for Mako’s sake.  
  
In all fairness, it wasn't a bad idea, just a spontaneous one.  
  
“You’ll have to remind me when we get back on the road.” Mako finally conceded.  
  
Surprisingly enough, Mako _was_ able to find the mine on the GPS. Mary Kathleen Abandoned Uranium Mine. It was on an unnamed street 16 minutes off the main road and he made sure to stop the cameras before making the left turn.  
  
They crossed several cattle guards before passing a welcome sign propped against a fence post. It welcomed all visitors and threatened prosecution on anyone who considered littering.  
  
“This whole place used to be a town I think? Now people just come here to camp.” Jamie piped up. Mako looked out the window and sure enough he could spot a few campers parked in the distance. There were even several camels and cows grazing lazily in the fields on either side of the dirt road.  
  
“How did you know about this place?” Mako asked even though he already assumed it was dealing related.  
  
“Me ’n my mates blew sticks of dynamite here once.” Jamison reminisced with a smile on his face. Mako glanced at the camels and cows again, suddenly worried for their safety. But mostly, for their hearing.  
  
“That… doesn't surprise me at all.”  
  
“Oh yeah? Why not?” He grilled, narrowing his eyes dramatically. Mako gave him a once over before answering honestly. “I seem like the dynamite throwing type, eh cobber?”  
  
“You just seem like you’re the flip-of-a-switch away from being completely unhinged.”    
  
Jamison hooted with laughter, and if Mako knew any better he’d say he swelled with pride.  
  
“Awe mate! That’s sweeta’ you to say!”  
  
Mako scoffed a laugh through his nose, glad that he at least took that as a compliment.  
  
They must have been getting close as they neared several hulking blocks of crumbling concrete. Some of the blocks had been graffitied and most were in such disrepair that the metal frames inside were exposed.  
  
The road seemed to stop here and the GPS informed him that they’d reached their destination. Mako slowed them to a stop before looking to Jamison for direction.  
  
“This is it?” Mako asked, raising a brow.  
  
“Yeah! Well, I mean it's where we park, we gotta walk the rest of the way. But don’t you worry! It’s not a long stomp.” He assured before hopping out, taking Samantha with him. Mako sat for a moment scanning the scenery before he removed the keys from the ignition and got out himself.

 

He shut the door and paused. He blanked at Jamison from across the hood of the car. The other man, sensing his hesitation, turned to him and gave one of his signature grins.

 

“C’mon, mate!” He encouraged, already walking around to the back of the car. He maintained eye contact with Mako, wiggling his eyebrows. “When have I ever steered you wrong?”

 

Mako thought about answering him seriously. But for the life of him, he couldn’t really think of a time he _did_ steer him wrong. That realization worried him, considering how deranged Jamison seemed to be.

 

He couldn’t deny that he was easy to be around, though.  
  
Jamie retrieved his bag from the trunk and slung it back onto his shoulder, slouching forward under its weight. Mako decided not to argue, going so far as to actually help him prop Samantha back up onto the bag.  
  
Jamie took the lead and Mako fell into step behind him, once again forced to make eye contact with the expressionless flamingo. It was almost companionable, the way they stared at each other. It was late October and just starting to warm back up so the walk was surprisingly pleasant, and, like Jamie had promised, it didn't take long for them to near an overhang.  
  
Jamison was ahead of him with a hand planted on his hip and the other shielding the sun from his eyes.  
  
“Come have a look, Mako!” He called back, and when Mako made his way up he was greeted with the view.  
  
They were looking out over an expanse of desert, but just beneath them was an enormous quarry. An entire rock wall had been carved out and resembled a stadium, funneling downward with each descending step. The very bottom ended in a pool of strikingly blue water.

  
Mako was pleasantly surprised to say the very least. It was undeniably beautiful and not at all what he was expecting. Knowing Jamison he’d expected something a little more rugged, more akin to the busted up and graffitied concrete walls they’d passed to get here. But as he looked out on the ethereal little alcove, he had to admit that maybe he didn’t know Jamison as well as he thought.  
  
“Well, whaddya’ think?” He looked up at Mako with a smirk. “Breath takin’, isn’t it?”  
  
“It’s nice. Real nice.” Mako mumbled in reply without taking his eyes off the horizon. Jamison seemed pleased as his smiled grew toothier.  
  
“Well then let's get on down there.” He tugged once on Mako’s sleeve before turning left and following the footpath down. They made their way down the incline and towards the pool. Mako wound up in front as Jamison slowed to scale carefully down the rocks on his leg.  
  
The very end of the path got steep and Mako carefully made his way down on the loose earth. The pool was much larger than it had seemed from the top of the cliff, but it was just as blue. In fact, the shallower water at its shore appeared almost green. Mako turned to ask if he knew why the water looked like that, but when he looked back Jamison was halted on the path.  
  
Hesitating at the same slope Mako had, he'd turned himself sideways like he was negotiating a way to approach this precipice. Mako watched him for a brief moment before realizing his hold-up. He took a few steps up and offered his hand out.  
  
At first Jamison sneered. His eyes searching Mako’s for something in his expression—Pity, Mako assumed. But he didn't seem to find any, as his face softened and he finally took the offer.  
  
He didn't even try to be graceful– didn't grab Mako’s hand like it was a chivalrous gesture– instead he squeezed tight and resigned himself to gravity, the scorched earth crumbling under his tennies as he swung forward, narrowly avoiding a collision between his ass and the dirt by Mako’s grip.  
  
He broke into nervous laughter, scrambling to get himself back on his feet.  
  
“The last time I came here I wasn’t collecting disability.” He explained, swatting the dirt off his shorts, one handed, since he hadn’t taken the other out of Mako’s. His arm was still poised to maintain the contact, but the difference in their height made it look like he was accepting an offer to ballroom dance.  
  
It was the first time he seemed self conscious– still giggling, but with an edge, like he was embarrassed. Mako offered up a chuckle and that seemed to melt his nerves away. They stood there silently for a second; Jamie's eyes darted to their hands and Mako felt his fingers twitch on his palm before Jamison cleared his throat and let his hand drop back to his side.  
  
“This place is beautiful,” Mako offered to break up the silence, and like that they both relaxed. Jamison hands came up to the straps of his backpack and he smiled excitedly.  
  
“Worth the detour?” He chimed.  
  
“Yeah.” Mako smiled back at him. He stared at Jaime, even after he had looked away. “Worth it.”  
  
\--  
  
Mako chose to settle down near the edge of the water, finding a decently sized rock to sit back on as he unwrapped the sandwich he’d bought back in Mount Isa, crumpling up the plastic bag it came in and shoving it into his pockets before digging in. It felt good to eat outside of the car. Pulling over for lunch breaks was efficient, sure, but being able to sit back and enjoy the scenery made this feel like an actual meal.  
  
Jamison was a few meters away, walking on top of a carved step closest to the pool. He hadn’t bought anything to eat, promising Mako that he wouldn't get hungry, so instead of joining him on his lunch break, he’d stuck Samantha into the ground nearby and opted on milling around a bit.  
  
It was comfortably silent, especially since they were essentially in a bowl, and it seemed even just the ambient sound of the outdoors didn't bounce down to them. So when Jamie dropped his bag down, it caught Mako’s attention. He watched him sit back on the steps behind him and pull a pin from his prosthetic ankle before sliding the limb completely off. He peeled back the lining on his thigh and set that down too.  
  
He pulled off his left sneaker and slunk back down to the last step where he swung his leg over the edge. Mako watched him dip his toes into the water, causing the reflection from his tie-dye button up to ripple on the water's surface. He let out a contented sigh before leaning back and pointing his face skyward. A picture of serenity.  
  
“You know why the water looks like that?” He asked, raising his voice so Jamie could hear him from where he sat. The man popped his head back up to look at him and then back towards the water. Kicking his foot a bit and causing more ripples.  
  
“Probably somthin’ to do with run off from the mine?” He hypothesized. “All sortsa’ minerals n shit. I remember hearing something about salt being in it, and thas’ why none of the cattle drink from it….” He leaned forward getting a closer look. “-But fuck if I know, m’not gonna take a sip!”  
  
Mako smiled, quirking a brow at him, doubtingly.  
  
“When we first met you said you were always ballistic.”  
  
“I was also on coke.” He defended shooting him a glare when Mako laughed.  
  
“Rack off! Trying to get me to drink poison water–pshaw!” He scoffed with no heat. Mako smiled behind his sandwich.  
  
“Y’know In the 70’s some absolute fucking lunatic did an ‘experiment’,” He made big air quotes with metal and flesh fingers, “where he gave these lab rats two different water dishes. One was just water and the other was water that'd been laced with cocaine.” Mako grunted, finally understanding why he chose to tell this story.  
  
“-And well of course the rats choose cocaine water, and they’d drink it till they died.”  
  
“That's kind of fucked.” The fact that Mako responded at all seemed to spur him on.  
  
“Yeah it is! Which is exactly why another scientist, Bruce, uh... somthin’-or-another, argued that the _only_ reason the rats drank the cocaine water was because they were depressed. Living in cages with no stimulation n’shit. He had the bright idea of starting his _own_ experiment called- get this. Rat Park!” Jamison broke into a fit of giggles.  
  
“The idea being that if a bunch of rats were havin’ a ripper, they wouldn't want the drugs. So he made a little rat park full of tasty food, little obstacle courses, and hot and sexy female rats, and guess what?”  
  
“Hmm?”  
  
“None of them drank the cocaine water!” Jamison exclaimed, his arms shot up with production and he was grinning. Mako was impressed, it didn't show on his face but once again he was shocked that Jamison had that type of information in his head.  
  
“You would have been the only rat still drinking cocaine water.”  
  
Jamison erupted into laughter, cackling at the comment before sneering playfully and firing back. “Yeah and you’d be the guinea pig a cage across judging me for it.”    
  
Mako didn’t respond, again not having to, since Jamie was already straining to reach his bag and drag it over.  
  
He couldn't let what he’d said go, though. It was a joke, obviously, and he felt a little dumb for over-analyzing, but he’d never been labeled as judgmental. In fact, it was usually the exact opposite. Maybe he really _had_ changed, and now he had no right to pretend he was the same person he was before this job.  
  
From here Mako couldn't quite make out what it was he’d produced from the pack, but it became obvious as he started rolling a blunt on his knee, deft fingers working on gutting the wrapper of tobacco and repacking it with pot.  
  
“Not guessing you want any?” He asked without looking up.  
  
“I'm good.” He responded instinctively.  
  
“Is it cause you’re on the clock or cause it's really not your thing?” He asked, finally looking up to run the wrapper along his tongue. Mako watched him, letting that question roll around in his head for a moment. Jamison had provided him with two perfectly usable excuses, but for whatever reason he felt compelled to overshare.  
  
“It used to be my thing.”  
  
That got his attention.  
  
Jamison shot him an appraising look, tilting his head to the side.  
  
“Oh yeah?” he asked between licks of the wrap.  
  
“Yeah.” Mako said quickly before falling silent again.    
  
Jamie didn't pry, just watched him calmly from across the water. He didn't will him to continue, but his gaze was expectant, so Mako didn't leave him hanging.  
  
“Got into trouble and gave it up.”  
  
“And now you just drive?”  
  
“And now I just drive.”  
  
They stared at each other for a long moment before Jamie pinched the blunt closed and brought it to hang in his lips, breaking eye contact to dig around his bag for a lighter before sparking up. He took a long drag and exhaled through his nose.  
  
“‘S no trouble to get into in the middle of the Outback.” He shrugged.  
  
“ _You’re_ nothing _but_ trouble.”    
  
\--  
  
Before getting back to the car, Mako decided to get a picture of the place. He figured he may not ever be back, and It’d be worth having the memory of his lunch break at this whimsical little pool. Appropriately, Jamison took it upon himself to jump into the second picture, Samantha in his arms since Mako hadn’t yet helped him perch her back on top of the bag.    
  
Mako rolled his eyes when Jamie came running over to get a glimpse at the pictures– Identical shots of the scenery, only Jamison was blurrily shooting forward in the second. Only half of his face was in focus and Samantha was a smear of pink. Jamie snickered and pranced away, obviously pleased with himself. Mako looked at him with exasperation.  
  
“I’m deleting this.” He lied.  
  
\--  
  
As it turns out, after smoking, Jamison found his appetite. They couldn't really justify stopping in Cloncurry since it would have them rolling into Normanton later than they already were, but Jamison promised he could wait to make it to Normanton to eat, swearing up and down that ‘hunger’s the best sauce’. To pass the long, laborious hours, he played his music: It was a slower song that sounded like sweltering heat and was surprisingly sweet.  Mako got to hear it twelve times before they made to the coastal town.  
  
Normanton was about an hour from the beach, but the bait shops and boats hitched to parked trucks gave it distinct costal energies. Mako drove them through the unmapped streets, telling Jamie to keep an eye out for a place to eat, and it didn't take long for an entirely pink building to catch his attention. It was a bakery, advertised as such by a large red flag out front. Jamison had perked up at the idea of coffee and pastries, and Mako marked the location so they could go back after he finished mapping.  
  
Jamison insisted on paying for the both of them, and they sat outside after ordering. Jamie discussed his prospects of traveling the world and dealing over his sandwich and flat white. Mako offered some of his own commentary about the logistics of sneaking drugs through airports over a chocolate croissant. It all felt surprisingly normal, and there wasn't a single mention of dropping Jamie off anytime soon.  
  
At the table, Jamison had mentioned a time where, on shrooms, he bought an entire bag of bait minnows to release in Lake Eyre. How it gave him good karma. Mako just so happened to need a bit of good karma, so without much deliberation they made their way back to the car.  
  
Mako left the cameras off for good.  
  
He followed Jamison around the baitshop, watching him pick out all sorts of artificial baits– vaguely accurate rubber frogs and fish that had been painted bright and eye catching colors. He couldn't picture Jamison having the patience to actually fish, but something in the way he carefully looked each little creature over for any imperfections had him thinking they were more like just collectables to him– like Samantha, but to a lesser degree.

  
He brought the handful of soft lures to the counter and asked for a bag of fifty minnows after scanning the prices listed on the wall behind him. The man asked if they were planning to go night fishing, and Mako watched as Jamie exclaimed that, yes they were, asking where the best spots on the river were.  
  
He shot Mako a sideways grin when the man turned his back to fill the minnow bag with oxygen, as if they were in on some big practical joke. Jamison paid in cash and the pair made their way back to the car, minnows in tow.  
  
It was a short little drive to the Norman River’s boat ramp, and after parking, they made their way down to the water together. Mako untied the top of the bag and watched as Jamie walked down to the shore to start pouring the minnows into the river. He moved carefully to maintain his balance on the soft earth, leaning forward so they wouldn't have to fall too far from the bag. Their silver scales reflected the evening sun. Something stirred in Mako’s chest watching him– something long since buried waking up in its grave when Jamie gingerly poured out the remaining fish and turned to smile back at him.  
  
“Feel that Mako?”  He called back sticking his tongue out between his teeth. “That’s moral superiority!”  
  
“Yeah, I feel it.” He called back, he was definitely feeling something.  
  
In the car Mako finally asked what the next move was, but before Jamison even answered, he made an offer.

 

“If you want to deal again tonight, we could leave again in the morning.. unless you wanted to stay in Normanton.” He deadpanned, and had it been coming from anyone other than Mako, Jamie would say he sounded nervous.

 

“And leave you all alone?” Jaime gasped, faking mortification. “What kind of mate would I be?”

 

Mako seemed to relax slightly, his shoulders hunching as he once again gripped the steering wheel. Jaime glanced at him, speaking quickly before his common sense could shut him up.

 

“And I also like, uh, driving with ya’. Even if you’re a bit quiet,” He grinned and nudged Mako when he sent a withering look his way. “Most fun I’ve had in ages, mate– If I’m honest, that is.. Which I rarely am!” His mind caught up with his mouth then, so he left off the ‘but with you, it’s easy’ bit.  


Mako grunted, but he seemed to lighten up a bit. He even blessed him with a small smile since he didn't have the stones to return the sentiment.

 

“For the record, I’m not quiet, you just talk a lot, mate.”

 

“Ah, well,” Jaime responded, waving a hand at him dismissively and focusing on positioning Samantha between his legs. His face felt hot and he didn’t want to look at Mako. “You say tomato, I say tomato.”

 

“You just pronounced those the same.”

 

“Well, great minds think alike, don’t they!”

 

Mako huffed an incredulous laugh. He shook his head and put the car into drive.

  
\--  
  
They checked into the Gulfland Motel and repeated the motions of the night before. They walked to the room together and once again Mako let him come in briefly to regroup.  
  
“Still want me to knock when I get back?” Jamie asked after putting Samantha down next to the couch, deciding to leave her with Mako once again.  
  
“Yeah that should be fine. How late do you think you’ll stay out?”  
  
“Not a clue. The streets are usually dead by 3AM though, but It’ll just depend.” Jamison shrugged, making his way to the door.  
  
“I’ll see you then I guess.” Mako nodded, holding the door open for him. Jamison shot him a two finger salute on his way out the door, spinning around to shoot him a grin.  
  
“See you then!”  
  
Mako shut the door and turned back into the room to do his minimal unpacking. He unmade the bed, pulling back the colorful comforter and removing the blanket underneath to fold neatly and leave on the couch for Jamie.  
  
He felt better about this situation than he did yesterday. He wasn't anxious about sharing the room again, and he had a good feeling that he might actually catch some sleep tonight. He only hoped that Jamison wouldn’t be bothered by his snoring.  
  
A phone call pulled him from his thoughts.  
  
It was work, and his nose crinkled in confusion since they weren't supposed to call again until morning, but he swiped to answer regardless.    
  
“Hello?”  
  
“Hello, Mr. Rutledge?” A different voice than last time. It was never the same person on the other line.  
  
“Uh- yeah?”  
  
“Hello, I’m calling on account of a two hour lapse in your recording today-”  
  
His heart dropped. Panic seized his chest and a pit formed in his gut, but he found it in him to respond coolly,  
  
“-Yeah, everything's fine, had some car troubles after leaving Isa but I was able to get it going again.” He lied smoothly despite his racing heart, he really couldn't fuck this up.  
  
There was typing over the line briefly before the voice came back.  
  
“Okay Mr. Rutledge, for future notice it _is_ required in your contract that you make a report whenever incidents like this occur.”  
  
“Got it, it won’t happen again.”  
  
The typing continued over the line and he closed his eyes to make the room stop spinning.  
  
“Alright.” They finally said. “Tomorrow we'd like you in Cairns, and from there we can see about getting you a more suitable vehicle, Mr. Rutledge.” Their polite tone did nothing to stop his nerves, and he hardly registered what’d been said.  
  
“Alright- thank you.” He responded awkwardly.  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
The call ended and Mako came apart at the seams. He wasn’t in any trouble –disaster had narrowly been avoided– but the fact that he received a call at all had him suddenly drowning in panic.  
  
His mind raced to all the other times he had paused the cameras, and if they had raised suspicion. He wasn't even aware that they had that information, but now he felt like a complete idiot for not even considering. He shouldn't have stopped, shouldn't have gone to the mine. It went without saying he’d violated a contract, and now he’d even lied about it.  
But that wasn't his only offense; the fact that Jamison was even a variable in this situation was glaring proof of his negligence. He avoided penalty this time, but should they find any evidence that he’d not only picked up a hitchhiker, but provided him room and board, it would no doubt be grounds for termination.  
  
He couldn't lose this job.  
  
He’d have to go back to trucking, or even worse, back home.  
  
Everything came crashing down. Horribly unpleasant feelings, and memories, and sensations hurling towards him like cars without headlights. It was hard to step back, and impossible to rationalize when traumas this deeply rooted were ripped back to the surface and exposed to air.  
  
He couldn't believe how stupid that was, how stupid he was being. It felt like a tidal wave had laid him out and in its wake crumbled the narrative he’d forged to justify acting so recklessly.  
  
He had a life that he couldn't be fucking with. Fear bloomed in his chest that maybe nothing in him had changed at all. Willing to throw his life away for what? The company of a stranger? _God you’re pathetic._  
  
His eyes shifted to Samantha. Her mere presence suddenly felt so suffocating– a reminder of his stupid, impulsive decision and a promise that Jamison would be back late in the night after _dealing drugs_ to spend the night in _his room_.  
  
_You can't do this. You have to put an end to this._  
  
But, he couldn't do _anything_ until Jamison returned. So, he waited for him to come back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your comments and kind words!


	5. Regression

When Jamison returned at a quarter to four, Mako didn’t look at him.

“Well you’re up late huh? Sorry if I kept you waiting but I was having quite a bit of luck out there!” He giggled, peeking out the door and down the hallway of the motel. Seemingly satisfied with whatever he saw, he relaxed his shoulders and closed the door softly behind him. “Ran into an ol’ mate o’ mine. Well, maybe not a _mate--_ ”  
  
“Jamison-” Mako tried, voice quiet.

“Don’t think she likes me much. To think of it, I don’t like her either! Huh! Small world, eh? Especially for you big man?”

“Jamison, I--” He repeated, marginally louder.  
  
“But mate, I’ll tell you what I’m just about ready to drop!” Jamison all but collapsed on the couch with a flourish. Mako heard him shift after a moment, and he felt eyes boring into side of his head. “Unless you’re staying up, that is.” He started, cutting his eyes to the muted television displaying a doppler map for the area. “I don’t mind watching the weather channel with you if you want the company. _Love_ the weather channel; the sheila that’s always on at 5 is great at her--”  
  
“This has to end.”  
  
A beat of silence.  
  
“Mako, mate,” Jamison sounded small, far away. It was hard to miss the disappointment in his voice. “What’re you talking about?”

His heart was pounding.

“I can't do this anymore.” He turned to him and gestured vaguely between them, snapping his jaw shut since he felt his face beginning to twitch.

 Jamie stared at him for a long moment like he was suspecting Mako to break into a smile and yell ‘Sike’ but it never came and the longer the silence dragged on the more Mako felt he was being gutted.  
  
“I got a call from work, they asked me why I wasn't recording for two hours today.”  
  
Jamie's face fell, “Oh” he paused looking horrified “Mate im- im sorry that was- I really shouldnt’a suggested that you-- I just thought that--h-what happened?”  
  
“Nothing happened. I lied and said it was car troubles.”  
  
“Did they buy it?” There was obvious tension in his voice, and his posture grew fractionally more rigid. Mako stared at him for a long moment, unsure if his reaction was genuine or if he was just trying to placate his position. Mako wanted more than anything to believe that his concern was real, but the circumstances of his irrational anxiety was screaming otherwise. _It doesn't matter that Jamison hasn’t fucked you over, he will eventually._  
  
“Yeah...they bought it.”  
  
Jamie let out a bellowing sigh of relief, “Oh! Okay so everything's good?”  
  
Mako shot his eyes at him “No, everything not good.” he gritted out. “If they find out what actually happened, I’ll get fired. I’m supposed to be doing a job out here.”  
  
Jamison furrowed his brow. “Do you...think they’re going to find out? I can be real sneaky if I need ta--”  
  
“It doesn't matter!” Mako snapped, making Jamison flinch. “I can't afford to be fucking around like this!”  
  
“Then we won’t fuck around! We don't have to make anymore stops mate. I can shape up, really, be so well behaved you’ll forget I’m even there!” He was starting to sound desperate, his eyes pleading for Mako to reason with him.  
  
“It’s not just making stops Jamison.”  He started and then stopped, swallowing around the knot in his throat to better compose himself. Why was he getting so worked up? He had only known this guy for a couple of days. But even as he tried to reason with himself, the feeling in his gut only got worse. “Everything I’ve been doing has been so fucking reckless. I shouldn't be making detours and I _absolutely_ shouldn’t be picking up hitchhikers.” Just saying it out loud made him feel like the floor was crumbling beneath him. “And, _christ,_ if they found out about _you.”_    
  
There was a long tense silence between them, and Mako was at the end of his rope. Exhausted and emotionally fried.

“Me? What’s so wrong with--?”  
  
“Listen, I can't lose this. I’m not going to come across another opportunity like this without having to go back home first, and that's not a fucking option for me.” It didn't seem to matter how many times he attempted to calm down, the moment he had to put his thoughts into words he was falling apart.

“I either go back to trucking and make just enough to scrape by or I get to go home and be the dark horse of the family-”  
  
Jamison interrupted, attempting to stop that train of thought before it could leave the station “Mako, mate hey, nothing like that's gonna happen-”  
  
“No-! Do you have any idea how hard it is to get a job when you’re an ex-con, how hard it is to live a normal fucking life when you’ve got a record! How fucking hard it is to never even meet your own niece because her mother is worried it wouldn’t be a good idea. To have your own sister be _afraid_ because of you!”  
  
He was really letting it all slip. Letting himself overshare and come unglued in front of Jamison because he was sure that having a mental breakdown would be grounds enough to convince him that this wasn't a subject to be compromised.  
  
Suddenly the tightness in his chest wasn't just anxiety. It felt like a weight had been dropped on his sternum, a stabbing sensation like scissor heads that threatened to deflate his lungs should he breathe too deep. The short gulping breaths that he did get weren't enough and he had to start the process of viciously reminding himself to remain calm.  
  
He had to sit back.  
  
Mako closed his eye to ground himself for the second time that night. The only difference this time being that Jamison was at his side in an instant. Mako could feel his hands grabbing at his shoulders, then his arms, then his face. Jamie rushed out an incoherent, out of order sentence before the words landed in the right order and he tried again, asking if Mako was okay, if he could do anything to help. His voice got so panicked that Mako finally had cut him off.  
  
“Inhaler.” He jerked a thumb back in the direction of his bag and instantly he felt Jamison dart away, stumbling across the room to rifle through Mako’s belongings, sending a rainbow of hawaiian shirts over his shoulder in the process.  
  
It couldn't have been more than thirty seconds but it felt much longer for the both of them. Jamison clawing frantically through side pockets and vinyl toiletry bags to find the nebulizer, and Mako sucking in short, searing breaths, with sweaty fistfulls of polyester bedspread.  
  
Jamison made a vocalization of relief when he finally found the inhaler. Immediately scrambling back towards Mako and thrusting it into his hands. The look of panic on his face made the burning vice on his lungs squeeze even tighter and without a moment's hesitation he pressed the canister and took an enormous breath in.  Repeating a second time until he felt his airway open back up.  
  
The pressure started to release and the stinging irritation in his chest began to subside, leaving his insides feeling delicate and raw. The bitter tasting albuterol lingered on his lips even after pulling the mouthpiece away and letting his arm drop back down to the bed.  
  
Jamison had been hovering in front of him the entire time and Mako narrowly avoided shivering when he felt his hand brush soothingly on his back. The gesture was uncharacteristic and downright motherly, and Mako averted his gaze to the floor, feeling entirely humiliated.  
  
The room grew quiet. Distantly they could hear a muffled conversation taking place in the hallway and the inaudible hum of a neighboring room’s television. Mako stared into his lap, unable and unsure of where to go from here.  
  
Eventually Jamison pulled his hand away so that he could crouch down, and meet Mako’s gaze. His bushy brows were pinched in with worry and he tilted his head to initiate eye contact when Mako didn’t acknowledge him at first. It stayed like that for a moment, the two of them just staring at each other.  
  
Mako thought he almost looked pedestrian without the ear-to-ear grin. The element of his wild hair and questionable wardrobe were now in stark contrast to the soft expression that had taken up residence on his face, and while it might’ve been a disservice to call any of his features soft, it was the only word Mako could think to describe his gaze.  
  
Jamison took a breath in through his nose before finally breaking the silence. The deliberate effort he made to keep his tone tender caused his voice to come out a bit gravelly.  
  
“Just tell me what needs to happen.”  
  
Mako stared at him long enough to get his bearings. He preemptively cleared his aching throat before answering him hoarsely.  
  
“I have to drop you off.”

Jamison didn't argue, didn't put up a fight, took it like a champ all things considered. He slunk back on his heels and stood up again, taking a backwards stride before dropping himself down on the couch to sit parallel to Mako. He was just trying not to let himself panic any further, and Jaime, as surprisingly socially competent as ever, seemed to notice this and leaned forward.

“Oi, mate, I get it. You got a job to do,” If Jamison was upset, it wasn’t at all clear in the way he spoke. He spoke to him as if he were talking about the weather. Speaking of, Mako averted his gaze back to the television when he found he had nothing to say. It felt bizarre having the room fall so silent with the human firecracker next to him being so uncharacteristically calm. Jamison added as almost an afterthought. “I ain’t gonna whine about it like an ankle-biter anymore.”

Mako didn’t respond, just watched as tomorrow's forecast began listing itself across the screen. It was goin’ be nice tomorrow in Croydon.

 “Mako, mate,” When he didn’t respond, he noticed Jamison watching him in his peripheral, uncontent with being ignored. He sighed, looking over at him. Jaime looked serious, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Whassa plan?”

 “‘S nice gonna be nice in Croydon,” Mako responded lamely. Jaime cocked an eyebrow so he gestured to the TV. The man glanced over at it and blinked, then huffed a short, tired laugh.

 “Looks like I’m goin’ ta Croydon then.”

“I can drop you off somewhe--”

“Nah, don’t worry about it, ya ocker,” Jamison sat back on the couch, propping his feet up on the end table in front of him and crossing his ankles. “Plenty o’ business there.”

Mako gave him a look. Jaime returned it with a fond roll of his eyes.

“Really, Mako,” He reassured him with a grin and a wink. “I’ll be fine.”

After that they just watched the weather channel in relative silence. Jaime seemed exhausted. Selling seemed to really wear him out. Mako couldn’t help but wonder if he usually sold at night, or if he was just doing it for his benefit. Even from knowing each other briefly, Jamie seemed to know so much about him. And despite how much he talked, Mako didn’t really know much about him. Miscellaneous fun facts, sure, he was chock full of those. Who Jaime _really_ was though, gun to his head, he couldn’t answer that.

Still recovering from his panic attack, it took Mako an hour or so to finally fall asleep. For the most part his attention was split between infomercials and watching Jamison sleep. He would’ve felt creepy if he didn’t already know the other man would absolutely do the same in his position.

The morning came sooner than Mako expected. He woke up feeling exhausted, which wasn't very ideal considering he had a long drive ahead of him. It was no problem that a little caffeine couldn't fix but he typically tried to avoid torturing his body. He’d have to really make sure to get to sleep early tonight. He figured it shouldn't be a problem without Jamison around to distract him. He tried to ignore the guilt swallowing his gut at the thought.  
  
He cast his eyes to Jamie’s sleeping form on the couch as that bitter pang returned in his chest. The first feeling being a chime of regret, but he buried it away quick enough. His decision was final, especially after this whole ordeal. It was the right thing to do, the _only_ thing to do. He just hoped these impractical feelings would leave with Jamie.     
  
He slid out of bed, hoping the momentum would snowball him into the muscle memory of his morning routine, but immediately his feet found one of the many shirts discarded from last nights commotion. It seemed everywhere he looked was a reminder of the embarrassing incident, and after picking them all back up he couldn't summon the patience to fold any of them, opting instead to shove them all haphazardly into his bag, making it difficult to zip closed. He wasn’t quiet during his cleanup, a part of him hoping Jaime would wake up so they could say their goodbyes. Maybe they could’ve gotten breakfast.

But he slept soundly. Mako sighed.  
  
This morning was nothing like yesterday. It felt, forthcoming. Mako still made two coffees but he packed while he drank his. They were out quicker too because he’d decided he didn't want to shower. Had a feeling he’d want to tonight after all this was said and done.    
  
The drive went without trouble. Jamison was on such good behavior that Mako was able to zone out, something he hadn't done once with Jamison in the car before. It made Mako feel bad that he put him in a position where he felt like he couldn't be himself. Neither of them spoke and Jamie never even tried to play his music, instead opting for looking out his window and picking imaginary flecks of dirt off of Samantha.  
  
Mako didn't mean too, but he wound up hyperfocusing on the man next to him. All of his subtle movements and all the times he cleared his throat Mako half expected him to finally break and spout off about some anecdotal, useless-but-somehow-entertaining, bit of information. But it never came. Distressing might be too severe of a word to describe his demeanor, unnerving was a better pick.    
  
When they made it to Croydon Mako felt a pit form in his stomach. The town had to be mapped and he was hoping it wasn't pressingly obvious that he could have let Jamison out of the car before this process. Suddenly, he just wanted to give himself a few more minutes with the man even if they were quiet, empty minutes.  
  
They rounded the corner of the last block before pulling into a shell station. The car rolled to a stop next to the pump and with the click of the parking brake Jamison grabbed hold of Samantha. He shot Mako a smile, grabbing hold of his flamingo and waiting for Mako to get out before following suit.  
  
It almost got awkward, narrowly avoided since the both of them immediately busied themselves elsewhere. Mako going to start pumping the gas, and Jamison going to grab his bag from the back of the car. Mako watched him fumble with getting Samantha mounted on his bag, not asking for a hand this time.    
  
“Well, mate,” Jamie called over to him, pulling the duffle off the ground and hefting it back up on his shoulders. Mako watched him walk over but Jamison didn't meet his gaze, instead he fingered through a few bills, making his way and breaking in front of him. Mako never moved his hand from the pump.  
  
“Thanks for ferrying my sorry ass around.” He thrusted his hand out, offering Mako his compensation for the last two drives. Mako glanced at the money and shook his head.  
  
“Don't worry ‘bout it.” He said lowly, looking back at the pump like it was anything interesting to see. he wasn't trying to come off cold but he wasn't sure he could behave any differently if he tried.  
  
Jamie didn't say anything, just stood there for a lengthy moment before he took a single confident step forward. Undeniably breeching Mako’s bubble and forcing his way into his line of sight.  He looked up and without really having a choice, made eye contact with the man.  
  
It was only the fraction of a second that Mako didn't understand what was happening that  caused his stomach to flip. But he caught up quick enough when Jamie used a single finger to pull the fabric lip of his shirt pocket open and slide the folded bills in.  
  
Before Mako could even protest with him Jamie spun on his heels and started walking. He shot back a single enthusiastic wave once he was out of Mako’s reach.  
  
“Later Mako!”  He called back, flashing him a wild grin and a thumbs up before looking one way, and crossing the street. Mako watched him walk down the street, Samantha’s head bobbing behind him. He couldn't see her eyes from here but he was certain that she’d be glaring back at him like she always was.  
  
Jamison turned down the block and then, just like that, he was gone.  
  
A painfully average goodbye.  
  
The pump jolted in Mako’s hand and with that, his time is Croydon was over. He got back in the car, and resisted the urge to look down the street Jamison had gone down as he passed the intersection to get back on the main road.  
  
If he thought the first half of this drive was quiet, nothing could have prepared him for the second half. It already felt so uninhabited in the car. Jamie hardly spoke on the drive, but even just the idle sound of another person in the car had become so anticipated, and without it the cab had become distressingly noiseless. He cleared his throat just to fill the space with a sound.  
  
It might of been the first time silence unnerved him and It almost, _almost_ felt like that awful, _about to cry_ , sensation. Suddenly his own company just wasn't making the cut and he quickly turned the radio to equalize the pressure. A talk show about responsible financing, the absolute perfect dull, humming background noise to get him through the rest of the drive.  
  
He squeezed the wheel and tried not to analyze too deeply why it suddenly felt like he ‘getting through’ anything. _But_ , he reminded himself, He had a stressful night, and morning. He’s allowed to feel weird about it.  
  
Distantly he heard the radio show host bloviate about the importance of living within your means.  
  
_Well at least I have that going for me,_ he thought dryly _._  
  
He took a deep breath through his nose and out his mouth.  
  
He’d be better tomorrow. This will all be one of those things you sleep off and wake up feeling detached and unbothered by. He just couldn't wait for that. To get to the motel room and and lay back until this was out of his system.    
  
He went through that same string of thoughts about eleven more times before finally reaching Cairns.  
  
He made great time, all things considered. The scenery felt like an establishing shot on repeat, with terrible frame rate if the images appearing on the monitor were any indication. His anxiety spiked when he realized the speed he’d subconsciously climbed to while he was playing emotional tip-toe in his head.  
  
He chastised himself for getting so caught up in his emotions that he completely phased out of his responsible driving habits. Besides, he genuinely believed that the speed at which he was hurling through the desert was contributing to the fast paced, regurgitated, reassurances that he had been failing to satisfy himself with this whole drive.  
  
With all of this, the little bought of traffic he experienced entering the resort town was a welcome change of pace. He had to actually pay attention and participate in society again. Graciously allowing car after car to merge into his lane, much to the dismay of the cars piling up behind him as the people with 9 to 5’s were getting off work.  
  
Eventually he made it onto a previously mapped street and, as he suspected, there wasn't much left to map in Cairns. The town had been fully updated only nine months back. So he turned off the camera and sat fully back in his seat. He was just a guy in traffic now. With a big camera on his car.  Passing several colorful water park signs, sunbaked and paint chipping he had to bitterly stamp out the thought bubbling to the surface of how Jamison would take this all in. Probably would have begged him to take him to a waterpark. Probably would have paid for the both of them. Or tried anyway.  
  
After exiting the main road he found a spot to park so he could start browsing for a place to stay tonight. Scrolling past all of the cheapest options on the map, most of them being hostels for backpackers and low rated resorts, he finally found a motel. Nightcap at Edge Hill. Looked nice enough in the pictures.  
  
It wasn't until after checking in and parking in front of his room that he noticed the CD lying horizontally in the cup holder. He felt an odd sensation wash over him. He didn't have to pick it up to know it was Jamie's, but he did anyway. Popping it open to look at the words hastily written in sharpie on the disk. It was too late to return now. Jamison was long gone now and across another stretch of desert. Mako didn't feel bad for not noticing sooner.  
  
It just made sense.  
  
Maybe in another universe he would have turned back around somewhere on the road between here and there, and gone back to Croydon to seek the man out, give him his CD back and -- then what? _Whatever._  
  
Mako rolled his eyes, depositing the CD in an empty compartment on his way out of the car.  
  
When he entered his room his ears stopped ringing. He hadn't even realized they were ringing to being with. _How long had that been going on?_ The mechanized lock click behind him as he took in the room. A rich blue accent wall and various paintings of coral hung around the bed. He shuffled in and dropped his bag down.  
  
He had been right about wanting to shower tonight, and he was thankful he waited because, as he suspected, there was nothing he wanted more at this point than to relax and get to bed early so he could catch up on all the sleep he missed.  
  
He took his time showering, emptying the complimentary shampoo and conditioner bottles with a single squeeze and thoroughly washing his hair. He got washing up out of the way first, before spending the remainder of the time standing under the stream of water. Occasionally he’d switch the dial between hot and cold. Eyes closed and imagining the blood rushing from the center of his body to his extremities in response to the rapid change of temperature.    
  
This was a trick he picked up after being released from prison. On nights when he got too wound up, too frantic thinking about the future to ever dream of calming down. He found that doing this exhausted his body enough that without fail, he’d leave the shower ready to collapse.  
  
This time was no exception, and after hastily patting himself down with the thin motel towels he decided he couldn't be fucked to try and untangle his hair, or brush his teeth for that matter. Any other time he wouldn't let such blatant neglect of his hygiene fly, but after today he couldn't muster berating himself anymore. It was 8PM according to the bedside alarm clock when he pulled the duvet back and crawled, naked and damp, into bed.  
  
The sheets immediately clung to him and while it wasn't the most pleasant sensation, the mere act of finally laying down was enough to overshadow the mild discomfort. He let out a long sigh and after a half hearted attempt at some breathing exercises he opened his eyes again to stare at the ceiling.  
  
You’re finally alone, things are finally back to normal. He tried to tell himself.  
  
It didn't make him feel any better.  
  
Fuck. This was all so frustrating.

He’d never in his life had an issue being alone, and if he was being honest he wasn't sure if he even was having an issue with it now. Something had just _changed_.  
  
People complicated thing, especially for him, and when the time came to sacrifice staying local where his poor excuse of a social life was, for a _good job,_ he didn't hesitate. He didn't regret it either.  
  
_Regret._  
  
The word bounced around his head for a moment.  
  
He chose to sacrifice Jamison’s company for his job thinking it would have been just as easy. _Never been good with people, always been better on my own._ He tried to justify but the next thought jumped out at him, unavoidable and intrusive.    
  
He had been good with Jamie. For the first time in his adult life he found that he could stand spending time around someone. And sure, he wasn’t completely used to the sound of another person sleeping in the room with him after years of uninterrupted silence, and he wasn't used to waiting for someone to come home late at night. But, it pained him to admit, he could have gotten used to it.    
  
_Ouch._  
  
He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands and grumbled deep in his chest. If he hadn't been so good at completely ignoring the thought, he would have gone so far as to say he might be interested in the guy. He, an adult man, might have developed a... _crush_.  
  
_Shit._  
  
He reached over to turn the bedside lamp off.

_Whatever._

He pulled the blankets up to his chin.

 _Stop thinking so much about it._  
  
Mako closed his eyes.  
  
I’ll be better in the morning.

He laid there in silence, listening to the buzz of the lights outside and the sound of his own shallow breathing. That intense feeling came back so he sat up and stared at the opposite wall. There alone and in the dark, he allowed himself to be vulnerable. His throat closed up and his breathing sped up. Choking on a sob, he laughed humorlessly and put his head in his hands.

 _I miss him_ . He thought, shaking his head. _I really miss him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! thank you again to Al for all the help!  
> Follow us on twitter for updates and general fuckery  
> @Cauilflower  
> @youjokebut


	6. Jamie Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter contains minor explicit content

There wasn't much to think about while he shuffled through Croydon. He eyed alleyways and walked the streets at the very edge of town.    
  
Gates, backyards and then Outback.    
  
There were some trees and shrubbery a few meters out. All promising places he could smoke, and he was heavily considering it after the car ride with Mako. He was feeling tense. Wound up tight after focusing for so long on not fidgeting, and his head was hurting something fierce, behind the eyes.    
  
Mako had acted kind of oblivious to it all.   
  
He wasn't really sure why he stayed, or why he didn't try harder. Just something about Mako seemed a little fragile and he didn’t want to break him. 

That was on the inside, of course. On the outside he was all stones and Jamison had nothing but respect for that.

A true master of the sport.     
  
But he didn't think he was kidding himself when he felt like walls were definitely breaking down between the two. No matter how slow Mako set the pace. In all honesty he had been thoroughly enjoying the time they were spending.    
  
It wasn't like he had anything else to be doing.      
  
He also didn't know what he expected.

How their situation could have possibly continued to play out. He never had a clue where Mako was ever taking them. Where in all of Oz would he have wound up if Mako decided to do literally anything else at some point other than drive. He wondered what Mako thought was going to happen. If he’d even let himself wonder was a bet to be made. 

There was a deep aching in his chest anytime he was brought back to; _It doesn't matter it's over._ He almost laughed out loud, _its like he dumped me._   
  
Oh fuck, he felt bad though. And that was the worst of it all.   
  
He wondered if the guilt of giving someone an asthma attack would weigh on his conscience indefinitely. He knew the sound of Mako wheezing definitely would.   
  
Such an awful sound.   
  
It took everything in his power not to slip out of the motel last night just out of sheer guilt. He thought it might have pissed Mako off to wake up and find him gone without a trace. Or maybe that’s what he was telling himself since he was awful enough to want to spend as many hours with him as he had left.   
  
He always knew he could be a handful. Couldn't help it after a perfect combination of tragic life experiences really fucked him up. But he’d never done something like that. He hadn’t even been tweaked out and he managed to do that to Mako. What did that say about him?  
  
He scrubbed at his brow.   
  
This wasn't getting him anywhere. His brain felt completely fucking fried and his body was aching from the awful sitting position he had chose to stick with for the whole ride. He turned onto a street that lead back into the town.   
  
Should probably figure out what it is he wants to do.  
  
He didn't really want to stay in Croydon for the night.   
  
He was making shit up when he told Mako there was business here to be had, he’d never even been here. Besides he wasn't as much of a businessman Mako had made him out to be. He’d gotten more dealing done in the last two days than he had all month just so he could be busy at night.  
  
He had moved out harder substances first. Partly for Mako’s sake, and partly because he really should be cutting back on coke.   
  
It was a little unnecessary to be using it as often as he had been when he could get through the long walks just fine without it. His nose was already full of dust by the end of the day, adding blow to the equation always ended in a bloody nose.  
  
All the time he spent dealing so he could continue to spend time with Mako at least counts for something if he stops doing bumps on the side of the road.   
  
He giggled, because what else do you do after having a thought like that.  
  
There was a McDonalds up ahead.  
  
_Hmm._

Weelllll, he wouldn't mind sitting down for a bit. He was feeling a bit hungry anyways and he figured it wasn't too terrible an idea to go in for awhile and regroup. Could afford to steal a couple rolls of toilet paper too.

He ignored the looks he got while ordering a single hash brown and black coffee. It didn't usually bother him, he was undeniably an eyeful and he knew full well that he looked homeless.  _ Technically _ he was.    
  
Right now though, he just wasn't in the mood for it, so he took a seat at a corner table and made his meager meal last for a few minutes. Being in a well air-conditioned establishment was making him feel like a fish out of water. Which, if you asked a professional, probably wasn't a good reflection of his current life situation.  
  
For the most part, the stares stopped. Except for this little ankle biter sitting across the restaurant. His wide, curious eyes were boring into the side of his face. So he turned, wiggling his fingers and sticking out his tongue. The kiddiwink broke out into a grin, giggling and clapping his hands together gleefully. The mum shot him a glare, whispering something scoldingly to his new little mate. His grin immediately fell as he looked at Jamie with a pout before turning away.

He did feel remarkably disgusting, probably looked like it too. He wasn’t a mite offended by the mum’s reaction. That didn't always bode well for picking up rides either, so after finishing his lunch he beelined for the men's room to clean up.    
  
It was empty inside and after shrugging his bag off he turned to look in the mirror. His skin was breaking out, and his hair was a greasy tangled mess.    
  
Oof.  _ Not looking too hot.  _   
  
It’s a good thing he lost his shame shortly after he got on the road because he didn't experience a tad bit of hesitation in ducking his head into the sink.   
  
He pumped the soap into his hand and started dumping it ungracefully onto his scalp. Its was cheap, and pearlescent in his palm, unfragranced aside from the triclosan and detergents that made up that undeniable antibacterial smell that reminded him so much of hospitals. It was gonna make his hair feel brittle and dry but it wasn’t like he was going to find a fancier bathroom with more  _ moisturizing _ hand soaps.    
  
The faucet was motionsense, which made this more difficult than it should have been.    
  
His entire head being in the sink somehow wasn't enough to activate the sensor, so he had to wave his hand in front of it every few seconds to keep a steady flow of water. The device was so frustrating he was certain it had to be made to deter anyone from ever washing their hands, let alone their hair.    
  
His head was still deep in the sink when he heard the bathroom door open, and he couldn't open his eyes at first since soapy water was streaming down his face, but he heard a huff that could have been interpreted as judgement or, maybe amusement? Maybe both.    
  
Regardless he waited until the soap was completely out of his hair to pull his head out of the sink and start pat drying with the paper napkins.    
  
The man glanced back at him from where he was pissing at the urinal, and Jamie looked up at him through the mirror maintaining eye contact until the man looked away first.     
  
“You can look,” Jamie grinned, watching himself in the mirror. “It’s funny.”    
  
“Sorry,” The man grumbled, not sounding especially apologetic. He shook and zipped, rubbing his hands together as he walked towards the sink. He was wearing a stained flannel with the sleeves cut off; a bold look for someone with such shrimpy arms. A tattoo on his bicep that looked like it was designed by an eight year old. “Just don’t see that very often.”  Jamie grinned toothily.

“You from Croydon, or somewhere else?”   
  
“Townsville.” The man said over Jaime’s shoulder.

He hummed, tossing the napkins in the bin after his hair was sufficiently dried. He knocked his head back with a flourish, shaking his hair out, and noting the way the Bruce watched him. Jaime looked over at him, looking him up and down, but didn’t lay on the charm yet. Knew he was interested, the way he was carefully avoiding his gaze, but he didn’t know how far in the closet he was. Or if it was dangerous.

“Got a dart onya?”

“Right, think so.”    
  
The stranger removed his hands from under the faucet and shook off the excess water rather quickly. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a mostly full box of ciggies. He held the whole pack out for Jaime to take.

He raised an eyebrow, glancing from the box to the stranger’s reddening face. The man turned and began to wash his hands again, apparently not done the first time.

“Got a whole other pack in the car,” The man explained lamely. He cleared his throat. “You can have ‘em.”

Jaime would’ve rolled his eyes if this dipstick wasn’t the only out of sleeping on the road tonight.

He took the cigarettes with a ta and a heated look.

Jamie knew where Townsville was, had friends there with an apartment complex by the river. He wasn't entirely sure where that was relative to  _ Croydon _ , despite how many times he’d caught glances at the GPS in Mako’s car, it just hadn’t stuck. He had the vaguest of ideas after being in Normanton so he took a risk.   
  
“So, Townsville. Sure far from home.”     
  
“Mmhm.”   
  
“So, whatcha you doing ‘ere?”   
  
“‘S buyin’ a boat from Karumba, dragging it behind the pickup back home.”   
  
Jamie hummed again in reply, he leaned against the sink next to the guy while he washed his hands. He didn't peg the guy as the washing your hands after pissing type. He reasoned to bet the guy was only doing it since he’d been asking questions, an excuse to stay for a second longer and answer him, divulge the boring details of his business to a wiry stranger in the Maccas men's room. He watched, and weighed his options all in the few seconds it took for the motion activated faucet to cut off. 

Jamie took a small step forward and leaned marginally closer, eyes fixed voraciously on the man. He took his chance.    
  
“You know-” Jamie pitched his voice a little lower and the guy immediately gave him a sharp look, but he didn't back down. Jamie wet his lips and the man's eyes followed the movement. “- I could use a ride to Townsville.”   
  
\---  
  
Jamison regretted not getting fucked up before this, but it didn't stop him from making it worth the guys while, he prided himself on a good handie, but he found himself too irritatingly sober to get a thrill out of it this time.   
  
He zoned out for long enough to wonder how it never came to this with Mako. It just never came up. Besides he figured given Mako’s temperament if things did go this way with him they wouldn't have spent much time together afterwards. It would have been over after the first ride, just how it was with all these guys.   
  
_Would have been fun though._ He grinned to himself, crowding the man closer to the wall.   
  
If he had been high he could of pretended it was him no trouble, but sober, the guys shortcomings were easily identifiable.   
  
For example, he wasn't anywhere near as tall, in fact he was a head shorter than himself. Backed up against the wall, huffing tobacco laden breath into the curve of his shoulder, his gut, while considerable, was a far cry from Mako’s.   
  
The man started pawing at his ass so Jamie let him have it and he didn't last much longer after that. Any other time Jamie would have made a cheeky remark, but this time he didn't complain.   
He was too caught up in his head wondering if he the act of fantasizing about Mako counteracted the guilt he felt over making him so upset.   
  
He chuckled unconsciously at himself. What a moral disaster he was.  
  
“What’s so funny?” He heard the man ask behind him, buckling his belt and clearly sounding a little self conscious.  
  
“Nothing mate.” Jamie shook his head, smiling back at him. “M’ just a loon.”    
  
\--  
  
They left together soon after. As promised a pontoon boat was hitched behind the pick up. He waited for the man to knock receipts and fast food wrappers from the passenger seat before hefting himself up into the truck, with some trouble from his leg since the running board was so high off the ground.  
  
“What happened to your leg?” The guy asked after watching him scrambled into the seat.  
  
_Oh, he loved improv._ _  
__  
_ “Now, _that's_ a story!”  He grinned situating his bag on the floor in front of him, leaning back in the seat as they exited the parking lot. “Alice Springs 2006 I’m cooking and selling ice, right?”  
  
Already the guy was quirking a brow, obviously not expecting that, for some reason. Jamie bit back the eagerness in his voice, schooling his tone to sound casual and matter of fact. “Making big bucks cause I was selling so cheap, worked in a stock room at the time and pocketed _everything_ I needed. Boxes of cold medicine, batteries, coffee filters, you name it.” He snickered as if reminiscing.

“-And y’see, selling good cheap meth has a way of attracting attention, and oh, did it.”   
  
The man gave him a look, brow quirking up at him.    
  
“ _ Cartel! _ ” He whispered dramatically. “-looking for the cunt responsible for stealing all their clientele. So, there I am walking the streets after a long long night of dealing, last time I’d ever walk on two feet…” He dipped his voice for effect, shaking his head. “I’m passing a big green van when  _ SUDDENLY _ three -- count ‘em,  _ three! -- _ huge guys coming darting out! Little ol’ me didn't stand a chance, next thing I know I’m waking up, strapped to a chair. Mean fucking sheila with bone saw looks at me and says… _ ’Good luck selling around here on one foot.’  _ and the rest is history.”    
  
The man turned and gave him a look, then a short nod before dryly asking “You still dealing meth?”    
  
Oh. How boring. Jamison rolled his eyes, and told the truth. “Not anymore.”    
  
“Dealing anything?” He asked this time. 

Jamie let out an exasperated sigh and started unzipping his bag. He dealt the guy an eighth and finally decided that he was overdue for a smoke of his own, blowing out the window since the man said his wife would complain otherwise.   
  
\---  
  
It was a long, uneventful car ride. He tried initiating conversation several times but gave up completely when the man picked up a call on his cell and spent the remainder of the drive on the phone. Jamison wasn't even interested enough to eavesdrop, so he smoked out the window until they reached Townsville.   
  
The guy was _still_ on the phone, even as he pulled to the side of the street to let Jamie out. Didn't so much as even look at him as he got out. Waiting impatiently for him to climb down from the vehicle and driving off the moment the door was slammed shut. Jamison watched the obnoxiously bright tail lights disappear down the street.   
  
He stood on the sidewalk for a moment. It was just starting to get dark and cars whizzed past him on the road. The air almost smelled sweet after being in the truck for so long and he was taking a second to take it all in. The last twelve hours were a fucking downer, he still couldn’t believe the drongo spent three whole hours talking on the phone. Jamie couldn’t even remember the last time he was on the phone.

He was dropped right in front of an alley, so he started walking out onto a nearly empty street. Supposedly because the guy was worried about being seen with him. As if he wanted to be seen with a grey-haired truckie with a tiny dick. Not that anyone ‘round here would know about that. He paused in his stride, cocking his head to the side; unless he was known for that. Tiny Dickie Rickie; he giggled to himself. Christ, he was funny. 

When he made it to the Riverview Apartments he hit every call button by the gate. Ignoring the litany of voices that came over the speaker, asking who it was calling to come in. Eventually someone just buzzed the gate open and he walked into the complex with little trouble.   
  
His memory was pretty shit, but he remembered the buildings relative location, and then all he had to do was keep an eye out for hanging baskets and other such houseplants on the balconies.    
  
Tessa always had a green thumb and a collection of plants that would make any well stocked greenhouse’s head spin. It took less time to locate than it did for him to scale the narrow stairs to their door.    
  
Tess and Zach we’re old mates, originally from Brisbane. That was where he’d first met them, the two of them thick as thieves and apparently childhood friends. They moved to Townsville for cheaper rent and to stay seaside since the two of them had a passion for surfing. Jamie had tried, and failed, to surf many, many times in their company.    
  
They were good people, and he was excited to see them, even though it took him a few solid seconds to muster up the courage to actually knock on the door.    
  
It  _ had  _ been a while after all.   
  
He didn't know what to expect, what about them had changed. Had anything changed?  What if this actually wasn't their apartment? Well fuck not much to do about that the door was unlocking and swinging open.    
  
“Holy shit, James! Is that really you mate?” Zach was beaming, he hooked an arm around his neck, pulling him inside. “Aye Tess, come look who’s here!”   
  
They must have been burning the same incenses for the past six years because stepping into the apartment put him right back to all the times he’d spent with them before. It was a heady aroma that put an ache in his chest. Made him way too aware of the time that had passed and the memories he, well, probably had no memory of.    
  
When Tess saw him she couldn’t help but hug him. It was exactly what he should have expected with her but it took him off guard regardless. He never really brought out the hugger in anybody, but Tess was an absolute hippie, even by his own standards.  _ And _ she was sweet enough not to mention how bony he was. For the first couple minutes.

“Lookin’ as knobby as you always do, eh James?” Tess laughed, holding him at arm's length. He rolled his eyes good naturedly, trying to wiggle out of her grasp. But she didn’t let him, pulling him into another tight hug. The next thing she said to him was whispered, voice breaking minutely, “Missed you.”

He sucked in a quiet breath, wrapping his flesh arm around her and squeezing her opposite shoulder. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, tight enough that he saw stars briefly.

“Right,” He muttered. “Me too, Tess.”

Finally, they broke away. Then they both looked to their right to see Zach staring at them with clasped hands delightedly. Jamie pulled a face and shouldered away from Tess, only to be pulled into another side hug by Zach. 

Zach unhooked his arm from his neck and gave his cheek a pinch. “Mate, I got a smooth sipping whiskey with ya name on it! I’ll get us all glasses.” He made his way to the kitchen, a skip in his step.Thank Christ.  
  
Tess then lead him by the hand to the couch and immediately started asking questions.

Fuck.

“You know, I’ve been worried sick about you!” Tess slapped his thigh, giving him a crooked grin. He couldn't help but smile, she was always fussing over him like an older sister.

“Don’t have a phone, possum.”

“Get one, ya dill!” She exclaimed, grinning. “You got the money!”  
  
He waved a hand dismissively. There was a dip in the couch on his right as Zach came to sit back down next to him, handing a glass of whiskey to him. Much to Jamie’s relief, he also set a handle of it before the three of them. Jamie’s downed his glass and began pouring himself another immediately. 

“Tess, I’d be happy to tell you what’s been goin’ on,” She quirked her brow at him as he tipped his glass to hers. “- but I really need to get shitfaced first.” He smiled apologetically at her and turned to cheers with Zach before she could press. 

“Have you eaten?” Tess asked, narrowing her eyes inquisitively.

“Well, sorta--”

Zach shot up and ran to the kitchen. “I got taquitos in the freezer!”

“Shall I--” He raised his voice so Zach could hear “--roll us some blunts, and you two catch me up on how  _ you’ve _ been.”   
  
“Fuck yes, mate!” Came from the kitchen, and Tess gave him a wary look before rolling her eyes.    
  
“Fine.”   
  
\--   
  
Over the whiskey Zach and Tess caught him up on their lives. Showing him their new tattoos, and introducing him to the cat they got. Telling him all about their recent acid trips since,  _ he was the tripping guy after all _ . Later Zach went back to the kitchen to retrieve beers for them all, and they all three settled onto the couch to drink and play Halo.    
  
_ Just like old times _ .    
  
None of them could remember how any of the games they had made up were supposed to go so Zach just wound up mercilessly picking them off while Jamie tried relentlessly to fly a Banshee into him. Eventually him and Tess joined forces and were able to get a single kill on him. Zach had yelled dramatically, smoke shooting out his nostrils before breaking into a fit of coughs and laughs.    
  
It filled Jamie with a lightness that the dynamic between them hadn't changed. He smoked and drank until he was pleasantly inebriated, melting into the plush cushions.    
  
Eventually though Zach had to stop. He had work in the morning and already had no business being up as late as he was. Tess and Jamie both said goodnight from the couch.   
  
The moment Zach’s door closed Jamie couldn't miss the look Tess threw his way. She looked expectant but when Jamie stayed silent she went first.    
  
Passing him the rest of her blunt. He took it and took a long heavy pull. “So, how’d you get here?”   
  
He laughed humorlessly “Gave a guy a handie in the Maccas mens room.”   
  
She quirked a brow, “Thought you always did that?”   
  
He put a hand to his chest in mock offense before Tess swiped at him “Dick head! Tell me what really happened!”   
  
“That is what happened!” He defended at first but after losing out to her prying glare he sighed loudly through his nose. “Fine…”   
  
He sat up a little straighter and pulled his arms out from under a blanket so he could talk with his hands.   
  
“Couple days ago I was walking, completely ripped out me mind, and It’s hot as shit so when I hear a car coming up behind me I throw my thumb out.” Tess gives him a look “He wasn’t a murderer.” He waved her off and she seemed to relax.   
  
“Nah, He’s-” Jamie stops, trying to find an eloquent way to put his words before giving up hope and speaking from the heart. “ - a big beautiful bastard driving a Google Maps car.”    
  
“Really?” She asks skeptically. “Big  _ beautiful _ bastard, eh?”   
  
“Yes!” Jamie exclaimed fondly “He gave me a ride. Dropped me off in a town and took off, end of the story right? Wrong! Because the very next day I run into him  _ again. _ ”    
  
“Well, what are the chances!” Tess gasped quietly and she almost looked like she had stars in her eyes. “Sounds like he’s your soulmate!” She swooned.   
  
_ Ouch. That one hurt. _ _  
_ _  
_ “Tess! No!” He squawked.   
  
“What? Why not?”   
  
“Thats- not what you’re supposed to say! - this is a  _ sad _ story!” She clasped her hands over her mouth apologizing profusely. But the damage was already done, that was the last thing he probably needed to hear right now. He wasn’t mad at her though, it just stung a little. He heaved a sigh before continuing, voice a little lower like the wind had been taken out of his sails.    
  
“He gave me another ride, and let me crash in his motel with him.” He said plainly, realizing he  _ didn't _ want to go into all the details about the tiptoeing around each other, or the quarry, or the minnows. Especially not the asthma attack. “His job got in the way.”   
  
Tess reached out and grabbed his hand and he let her.   
  
“I guess I'm just...confused,” He chewed at the inside of his cheek “-and maybe a little heart broken.”    
  
Tess rubbed her thumb over his knuckles and he felt like he was going to cry. He was glad out of all of his friends he wound up spilling this too it was her. Even if her hopeless romantic skepticism felt like a bucket of cold water she was at least consoling.    
  
“James,” she started “you’re allowed to be sad about this.” He already knew that but just hearing it from someone else felt nice. “You aren't going to always feel like this, there's plenty of people out there.”    
  
“Not on the road-” He mumbled bitterly.    
  
“Well...maybe it's time to get off the road.” 

Now, he should’ve expected that. He didn’t initially remember why he and Tess stopped talking as frequently as they used to. It was because she had begun to “get her shit together”, so to speak. And though she was still his best mate, she always had a knack when it came to controlling everything. She wanted him to get a shitty part time job with her, something that would no doubt suck the life out of him.

She apparently was back on her shit.

“Tess--”   
  
“I’m serious, James!”   
  
“This has nothing to do with Mako!” He snapped at her defensively.    
  
She didn't say anything at first, they were still holding hands but Jamie was bristled.   
  
“I'm sorry about what happened James, I really am, but... don't you think it’s time? You’ve been out there for long enough haven’t you. You could settle and get an apartment, and a job-” He was shaking his head already and she squeezed his hand “- and a  _ boyfriend _ , who’s work won't get in the way.”    
  
“I’m not giving up what makes me happy for a boyfriend.”    
  
“-I think you would be happier if you settled down.” She started, eyebrows drawn together worriedly. Almost pittingly. “Don’t you think you should--”   
  
“Tess, I'm not you!” He cried, yanking his hand away. She only stared at him, expression unchanging. He scratched the back of his neck with blunt nails, his hands shaking. “You know I would stop if I wanted to, but I don’t want to!” 

He looked away from her, sighing.

“ _ I know _ you’re worried about me and everyone's worried about me and it's _ a whole thing _ !” He spoke quickly because he felt like he was going to start crying. She was staring at him wide eyed with concern, but let him continue without protest. “-But I'm not fooling anyone when I say I’m doing exactly what I want.” 

  
She nodded, looking regretful they sat in silence for a moment before she spoke again.  
  
“I’m sorry. You’re right,” She sighed, laying her hand on her knee as an invitation. “Y’know how I--that was unfair of me.”  
  
“It’s fine.” Jamie said without looking at her. Tess took her hand away.  
  
There was a long silence between them and Jamie took another puff before passing it back to Tess as a peace offering. She took it back immediately, taking a big hit and letting it out slow.   
  
“So what was the inside of the Google car like?”  
  
He rolled his eyes and grinned sideways at her.   
  
“It’s a fucking trip.”   
  
\---  
  
Tess went to her room around 2 AM. She had offered him her bed, but he insisted on sleeping on the couch. Softly, she asked him to stay for a couple days but he turned her down. She persists, asking him to at least think it over and he says he will.   
  
He doesn't mean it for a second.  
  
It was quiet in the apartment. He didn't take his limbs off because he didn't plan on laying down. He sat motionless in the dark, watching the blinking lights from all of the consoles across from him.  
  
He was feeling a little cornered.   
  
Or out of options.   
  
Out of allies.   
  
He was hazy from smoking only a few hours ago. A tired that he couldn't quite turn into sleep and instead clung to each of his thoughts. Low and quiet.  
  
It was the first night back on the road. Back to his old ways.   
  
What are you supposed to do alone in your friends apartment?  
  
Anxiety was gnawing at his ribs. High strung and idle in the dark.   
  
This absolutely wouldn't do.   
  
He got up and walked around for a bit. As quietly as he could manage, praying that one of them wouldn't wake up for any reason to find him skulking through their kitchen.   
  
There were dishes in the sink, a cutting board even. They had it all.   
  
He looked at all of their refrigerator magnets, standing there for a good moment to meticulously arrange the magnetic poetry pieces into something intelligible. He couldn’t help but think about snagging a few for the pure novelty of putting them on his prosthetics.  
  
Eventually he made his way into the bathroom. Spending a good solid moment just standing on the cold tiles before deciding he would take a bath.    
  
Figured that was a reasonable thing to do in here. But first he was wasting time. Procrastinating actually getting in the bath in favor of picking each daintily packaged bottle off the side of the tub to investigate the lists of different _natural fruit essences_ and _warm oats_ in every varying degree of combinations.   
  
It felt good to go auto pilot right now.   
  
It had all the charm you would expect from a friends apartment bathroom, but at this early hour it was dark, illuminated only by a marvelously tacky seashell lamp. He stared himself down in the mirror. The warm cast of light obscured his features and made him look a little less his age.  
  
A little less traveled.   
  
He took a deep breath and watched the way his shirt moved with it. All of his clothes were too big. His shirts never fit, they just hung from his shoulders. Made him feel like a human hanger, so he pulled his shirt off and let it drop to the floor.   
  
Now he watched his ribs expand with each breath he took, trying to get himself back into his body, even if his body wasn't exactly his favorite place to be.  
  
It’s hard to deny that you're a person when you’re looking in the mirror, and he was willing to stare as long as it took for him recognize himself. He had a patch of hair thinning away and he was trying to remember if that was always there or if he’d started anxiety scrubbing at his head there now too. It wasn't like he didn't know how he looked _at all._ _  
__  
_ He had just seen his ID picture more times than a mirror recently.  
  
He looked a little rougher now. Not that he didn't look rough before, that picture had been taken before he got on the road, but now he’d been beaten down thoroughly by the sun and the longer he stared the more sun spots he counted. Among them the evidence of his breakout, angry zits scattered across his chest and shoulders and he narrowly resisted the urge to pick at them. Besides, there were about four different body scrubs in the bath that he could use to justify launching an attack on his skin. _Saltwater Breeze_ seemed enticing.   
  
The bath. That's what he was here for. He would get there eventually.   
  
The toilet was across from the tub so he was going to have to be strategic about this. The process of getting into the tub reminded him why he never did this. It was such a struggle, and more than just physically, but it wasn't like he was going to start carrying a transfer bench with him.   
  
Then there'd be no room for Samantha.  
  
He stepped out of his shorts on the way towards the tub, leaving a trail of his discarded articles on the ground. Taking his shoe off, then his leg, and lastly his arm. He steadied himself as not to slip off the edge of the tub while he placed his limbs nearby. Pushing the shower curtain out of reach as a precaution, since he had a habit of yanking them off the rod anytime he started to fall. _  
_  
He didn't fall this time, thankfully. Instead he dropped himself gracefully into the tub, only bruising his ass a little.  It was cold and unpleasant so he used the heel of his foot to pull himself closer to the tap, whipping the knob to hot, _too hot_ , then to warm.   
  
Scooting himself back and folding his arm under his knee, hugging himself close while he waited for the water to fill. He could fold himself up so tiny that two more of him could have fit in the tub.  
  
There was an odd sensation creeping up on him.   
  
Something similar to the way the incense had made him feel, but further back. deeper down. Maybe what didn't do so well for him and baths was the stillness. The process he _especially_ had to put in never quite felt worth the result; dissociating butt ass naked.   
  
He tried to focus on relaxing, loosening up the tension in his muscles, the aches in all his joints. Droplets of water that had been splashed up onto him made it feel like he was sweating out a fever.   
  
He didn't feel relaxed to say the very least, just empty.   
  
But that was all par for the course, friends did that to him these days. It wouldn't seem to matter how at peace he was with his current lifestyle, the moment he caught up with any of his old mates he felt leagues and leagues away.  
  
Their concern was of good intention, but they should know better by now. Should know _him_ better by now. Just because this whole _settling down_ business worked for them after they hit their 20’s and grew out of the problems that had made them _bad kids_ and put them in the same social circle to begin with.    
  
He pressed the heel of his hand into his left temple and craned his neck to press the right into his shoulder. Staying crumpled up like that for a moment, his head was _still_ hurting.   
  
_I’m being too harsh on them. I'm doing what I'm doing and I’d be worried about me too._  
  
He dropped off the grid to backpack through the Outback _two years ago._ His friends were well within their rights to be concerned. He just couldn't ever picture a scenario where they’d understand where he was coming from, and why he was still out there. He didn't fully get it _either._ _  
_  
It had just become what he did. It's what made him happy, and he would absolutely admit that there were times that it got hard.   
  
Unreasonably so.   
  
But he’d be amiss to deny that it hadn’t brought him some sort of catharsis.   
  
He’d been in therapy a few times, for all sorts of reasons, but _everytime_ he had gone he remembered discussions that danced around the subject of his recklessness. Since, that tended to be the reason he was put there to begin with. And after telling a few different therapists different half-truths he was left with a list of diagnosed personality disorders that he didn't remember the names of, just the symptoms.   
  
The water was almost done filling up so he turned it all the way to hot just to top it all off. It made the water just _almost_ unbearable, but he was able to mitigate his body temperature by propping his foot up out of the water and simultaneously keeping himself oriented in the tub. Laying back he could feel every joint in his back loosening up and he was almost able to picture himself falling asleep in the tub.   
  
It was quiet. Save for the occasional drip from the faucet.  
  
...  
  
He wondered if Mako was awake right now. Probably, definitely not.   
  
Jamie dipped his nose under the water just enough to create bubbles as he sighed.   
  
_Mako lived on the road._  
  
He also worked on the road.   
  
_But, I work on the road too. Just… not for Google._ _  
__  
_ Everything about that situation. _Their_ situation, had felt so right. Like the stars had aligned, but the circumstance and the complexities of life just _changed_ things. He didn't fault Mako for his decision. He just wished things had gone differently. And maybe that made him selfish.   
  
_But it's how I feel._ _  
__  
_ The silence was heavy. He didn't want to think about how he was going to get out of the tub, didn't want to think about Mako. Didn't want to think about himself either. He stayed in there until his fingers were pruned and the water was cool .

  
\---

He didn't go back to bed that night. He started packing up after he dried off and got back into his previous clothes. It didn't feel great but they weren’t dirty enough to trade out yet. Still, the clash of the nostalgic, loudly artificial but distinctly beachy body scrub mixed with sweat from his only half-dirty shirt made for an interesting combination.    
  
He slunk back to the kitchen to drink some old coffee from their carafe, glancing back at the fridge poem he’d left in his dissociative state.  
**  
****sweet hearts on the horizon** **  
****do we need it** **  
****floral scents and salt** **  
****  
**_Whatever that meant._   
**  
** Old habits die hard evidently as he peeled back some foils and popped a tab under his tongue before quietly slipping out of the apartment.  
  
\---  
  
He took a couple wrong turns here and there that probably wouldn't have him out of the city for a while longer, but he wasn't complaining.   
  
Besides, he wanted to see the ocean anyway. Today was a new day, and he was determined to make it a good one. There was a fluttering feeling in his stomach. Excitement, anxiety, anticipation. He considered it all apart of the come up.   
It was early and most of the people out were on their ways to work. They’d cast glances at him before stepping out of his way sooner than they really had too.   
  
He was starting to feel it in his skin, waves of shivers and the fluctuations in temperatures. The hair on his arms and legs stood at attention like cat whiskers. Nausea was creeping up but it was a sensation he’d grown an odd sense of familiarity too. He was going to try not to puke, but it wasn't a big deal if he did.   
  
He turned right on Southern Port Rd, crossing the street when he had a chance to walk on the side closest to the ocean. The coastal air was piercing. It was like he could feel the air particles filling his nasal cavity and traveling through his body to his chest. Like being conscious of your own breathing but to an unimaginable degree.   
  
It was exhilarating.  
  
The water looked like a sheet of fabric, waves moving and folding like threads we’re being pulled and smoothed out. He cast his eyes skyward to expedite the process.   
  
The floaters on his eyes were especially present, and if he stared long enough he could find symmetries beginning to form in their movements.   
  
It didn't fully hit him until he was on the bridge, with the river on one side, the ocean on the other and the imposing vastness of the sky above.  
  
He did wind up puking. Over the railing and into the ocean, _adding to the seafoam,_ he noted distantly.  
  
When he came back up from emptying his already empty guts the world looked spectacular. An almost hexagonal grid was laid out before him in the form of clouds and concrete and ocean. A sandpiper with six wings and fractals upon fractals in the fringes of trees across the bridge.   
  
It’s so easy to get used to the way the world looks, but when the switch is flipped, and the line is crossed, it's impossible to not process it all over again.   
  
He always wondered why it didn't freak him out, maybe to a degree it did, but it seemed that any bit of distress would always take a back seat to the overwhelming grandness of it all. 

The peak is the falling before the parachute opens, and by the time he makes it to the other side of the bridge he’s slow falling.  
  
_FUCK._ _  
__  
_ He thought, loudly in his head with big capital letters.   
  
He didn't have any music.   
  
Well, he does, but not anything he wants to listen too. He had two CD’s and one of them he’d left in the Prius.   
  
So he had one CD, _and_ his Walkman wasn’t too deeply buried in his bag.   
  
The Oingo Boingo Self Titled _was_ one of his absolute favorites, but he was starting to think that _maybe_ just maybe he listened to it a few too many times. And that was _a lot_ for him.   
  
Well, that blows.  
  
_Unless._  
  
He did have another option.   
  
Sort of.   
  
Immediately he cut a little further from the road and shrugged his bag off his shoulders.   
  
He got caught up in all of the zippers, hiding under fabric lips and some even broken off, he would have to pinch the little metal slider and, with hand dexterity that he lacked, pull them along a taut, overstuffed surface.   
  
The tedious trouble of said tasks was amplified by the drug and for a second he felt like it was becoming a _scene_ of him fiddling with his bag on the side of the road.   
  
Finally, after all of four seconds, he located the right zipper. The sound it made as he zipped it open echoed in his head for a second and made his shiver. He pulled Samantha out first, stabbing her into the ground and then taking a seat in the dirt beside her.   
  
He hadn't completely emptied the contents of his bag since Middleton, hadn't gotten the chance to.   
  
The first set of items were easy to unpack. His most recent change of clothes, his pipes, rubber fishing lures, his yellow sneakers, metal Altoids containers he got in Sydney (that definitely didn't have Altoids in them).   
  
After that everything else in the bag had become tightly compressed, and took a little more yanking and wiggling to unpack.   
  
He started laying everything out in categorized piles. All sorts of possessions he didn't see very much of.   
  
They almost didn't feel like his. Lots of dirty clothes, a disposable camera, wooden cigar boxes full of shells and beads and bobbles, a pair of UV lense goggles, that found their way strapped onto his forehead rather than in one of piles.   
  
Among it all he found his fail safe.  
  
A gatorade bottle half-full of (conveniently blue) toilet bowl cleaner, and a massive wad of foil gum wrappers duct taped to the cap.  
  
He couldn't help but grin. Every time he saw it he wanted to set it off.   
  
He never did though, couldn't risk missing it if he was in a tight spot. The amount of of each compound was enough to completely obliterate his bag if he had too. Carefully he set the Works bomb aside in its own category.   
  
At the very bottom of his bag he found what it was he was looking for.   
  
An IPod Shuffle.   
  
A dead IPod Shuffle.   
  
It was by all means a great find, but after a short initial listen, and an untimely death he had let succumb to the swallowing depths of his bag. Now he pulled it out and set it carefully on his thigh.   
  
He went for the side pockets next.   
  
Thats where everything he would need would be.   
  
You would not _believe_ how much miscellaneous ‘rubbish’ was left on the side of the road. _Useful rubbish._ The things he found on the side of the road all had a hierarchy of importance. He’d rotate items out of his bag in exchange for new things he found. Things that he held at higher values.   
  
Batteries were top tier, and close behind were broken electronics and wires, cordage, pens, and then at the very bottom, interesting rocks and other miscellaneous chattels.   
  
Of course some items had little to no importance but held permanent spots in the bag.   
  
He unloaded those too. A pill bottle with three gold fillings, only one of them being his, and various chunks of yellow asphalt.   
  
At last, his bag was empty. Like a deflated nylon-polyester balloon. Everything laid out in front of him it might as well have been a workbench. A dirt one.   
  
Time to get to work.   
  
He searched the cigar boxes for a sufficient conductor, a key caught his eye. He put it into his mouth.   
  
_Yep, that's copper._ _  
__  
_ Next, he sorted through the wires, trying each jack on the Ipod until he found one that worked. He had two car chargers to choose from, deciding on the turquoise one that stood out so vividly against the dirt. The last thing he needed was a battery. The nice little 9 volt rectangular ones. He rotated it in his hand a few times just for the satisfaction of feeling its edges, before getting busy.   
  
This took a little bit of that aforementioned, hand dexterity, to pull off but he had the tools and the determination to make it work.  
  
Not to mention the time.   
  
He had all the time it took to sit there holding his jerry-rigged charger in place. Luckily for him the car charger had a little green light that would go out to let him know anytime something slipped out of place.   
  
Now that he wasn't so occupied, he remembered he was tripping.  
  
He was able to melt away at his spot in the dirt for a long, blissful while. Getting lost in the scene.   
  
\---  
  
On these long walks through what feel like mobius strips of desert Jamison forgets a lot of things, but never the things that bring him relief.  
  
The Ipod is full of Hip Hop and EDM, as well as every single Black Eyed Peas album, and he only wishes he could meet the previous owner and thank them for this welcomed change of pace.   
  
He lets himself go apeshit on the side of road. Waltzing and bouncing in stride, because it _felt_ good and because out here he _could_.   
  
His jaw pops anytime he open his mouth too wide. Just like everyone else who had braces growing up.   
  
It was right by his ear so he could hear it every time, and he'd waltz down the side of the road gaping like a trout. Anyone who drove past him probably thought he was jawing off to himself.   
  
He knew how crazy he looked, but he wasn't about to stop rapid fire popping his jaw for the sake of strangers shooting past him.   
  
Embarrassment was an utterly useless emotion. The road was his long stage and anything he did on it was apart of the performance.   
  
He giggled loudly to himself, his chest filling with a chemical exuberance. Waves of euphoria shocked through him and he couldn't help strutting in rhythm to someone else’s music.  
  
It felt like a gift.     
  
This was his bread and butter, what he loved to do and what he had been doing for the past two years.   
  
The way the LSD made his brain work left nothing feeling more _fated_ to him than walking, and collecting, and listening to his music. The satisfaction of putting kilometers and kilometres behind him. Being able to live with a _structure_ that he controls and not one that excludes him. He came to this conclusion everytime, in the peaks of his euphoria, that he wouldn't rather be doing anything else.   
  
_Except._  
_  
_ Somewhere deep inside he wonders how much further he would get in a car. In the passenger seat specifically, with Mako, and his trippy white hair.   
  
It’s a thought he can't give any wings to. No matter how warm it would feel.  
  
You shouldn't pick at scabs.   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I want to say thank you for all your comments I read and appreciate all of them!! I was little bit nervous about posting this chapter but i hope you all enjoy!


	7. Birdsville

If you asked Mako how things were going for him, he'd have to say they were going good.

Good at a surface level at least.

It had been a little under a month since Jamie. Although, he tried not to think of it like that.

It had been a little under a month since his _promotion._

After making it to Cairns, he had a meeting with some Google employees.  
  
He didn't want to call them higher-ups per se, as they acted more like messengers than authority figures. Despite this, they expressed interest in having him step into a more self-sufficient role. No more town-by-town restrictions. Instead they gave him a destination and a deadline.

In layman's terms: he wouldn't have to stop for the night, as long as there were still available daytime hours to get him to another town.  
  
His hours were still a bit inconsistent, but that was just the nature of the job. Sometimes you have to stop when there’s a _place_ to stop. Can’t speed through the night to make better time because it wasn't about making time. It was about taking pictures.  
  
He accepted the offer before they could even start discussing the fringe benefits. Those being, he now had coverage for short and long term disability, actual break times, and Fridays and Saturdays off. They really got lucky with someone as lonely and obedient as him.  
  
He remembers smiling politely at the two suited individuals, trying not to dwell on the fact that if he'd just waited a single day longer to make a decision about Jamie, things could have gone in a dramatically different direction.

 _It's over, it's dead, let it be._ He told himself with his fists clenched under the table. He tried to remind himself that nothing ever really started, ignoring the memory of how Jamie looked at him in that hotel room. That expression he wore was so full of worry, dread, and something else that only made the already unbearable weight on Mako’s shoulders feel ten times heavier. Every night he told himself the same thing, over and over again until the words didn’t mean anything.

_Can’t mourn something that never existed._

The silver lining came in the form of a Ford F-150.

After his account of engine trouble, they figured they were at legal risk and decided to upgrade his Google Maps Prius to a Google Maps Truck to avoid liability. Mako was just relieved to be rid of the clown car. It was more spacious for one thing. Accommodating him more comfortably and overall, a more appropriate improvement for tearing through the desert.

He had to stay in Cairns for a several days while things were being finalized and the roo-bar was being installed. 

He was starting to feel less like a random dude they commissioned for driving work and more like an official employee, and when he finally got to see the truck he couldn't help but feel a little revitalized.

It had the same ridiculous paint job as the Prius, just scaled up to fit the bigger body. Largely white, with intersecting yellow roads, green doors and the little orange street view guy displayed proudly over the back doors. The camera stand now towering in the bed of the truck.

When he first saw it he almost snapped a picture to send to the people in his contacts just for the novelty, but he figured he lacked the context to justify that sort of interaction. So he reveled in the weird excitement of seeing a vehicle he's never seen before in solitude.

That last night in the city he trudged through various, viscous emotions. The last night before starting _phase two_ of his time at Google.

Part of him was excited about the truck and the promotion. It was good news. _Damn_ good news _._ The perfect job that ignored his record and came at the perfect time just got better, and he recognized that. But the feeling that gnawed at him was something he didn't recognize.

At least not at first.

During the sleepless hours between dusk and dawn he would let himself think. Cautiously, since thinking made him feel like he was traversing a minefield. But if he made it through the gauntlet of responsibility and reason and _expectation_ , he found that he was deeply longing. And, less surprisingly, desperately lonely.

It took even more sleepless nights to recognize what he was longing for. And of course the initial answer was obvious, in an ambiguous way.

He missed Jamie. That was established. _Painfully_ established. But deeper than that he missed the change of pace. Left to his own devices he finds himself falling into repetitive routines.

He didn't know how to be spontaneous anymore, and Jamie wasn’t here to be spitballing suggestions. The irony of it all was he only noticed how mundane he had become after he met Jamie. His thoughts had to break from their scheduled monotony in his presence just so he could keep up.

The risk, the reward. He missed not knowing what the future held, because now he did know, and it only had to do with driving and mapping.

And one night as he showered, an onslaught of thought finally wiped him out and he was left with a biting ache, and the answer.

He missed having fun.

He had clasped his hands over his face and laughed, a sad laugh that souldered out into a deep sigh.  
  
Fun.  
  
He hadn't had it since before prison. Since his life took a completely different trajectory and resulted in him having to shape up and shut up.

He’d been working since he was released.

Working hard, nonstop because that's the only thing he could do to make up for it all. At first, he tried to tell himself it was to stay on his parole officer’s good side. But in reality his mother's disappointment and heartache felt less sharp, less bad if he could wire money back home for her. 

He sacrificed a lot and refused to ever call it a sacrifice because it was _him_ who put himself here.  
  
And at first it was easy.  
  
Easy to see these endless hours of driving as a fitting atonement, easy to turn his brain off and set aside all of his previous aspirations in favor of righting his wrong and making up for all of the turmoil he put his family in.

Easy up until Jamison. 

The absolute unavoidable truth was, he had fun with Jamie and it wasn't until after he was gone that he realized how fucking miserable his life truly was. Bare bones and stripped of substance.  
  
He drove. That's all he did.    
  
Without the other man's company he felt the crushing solitude in full.

It didn't take his excuses anymore, about how this was the right thing, because it didn't _feel_ right. It was a vicious thought pattern. He was unhappy and that made him feel guilty.

Eventually, work started back up, and as he drove his new truck from Cairns, across a bridge in Townsville, past tall trees in MacKay and through roundabouts in Rockhampton, he wound up in Brissy feeling emptier than ever.

That's when cynicism and bitterness came in. Because just how long is he supposed to be out here seeking atonement?

It was confusing because he couldn't blame the work. He would have to work no matter what, and as far as jobs went this one was pretty good. That left him with himself and he found it plenty easy to blame himself. 

On his day off in Brisbane he tried going out. He only gave the crowded bars an hour of his time before setting off to walk the blocks. It was a big city, he didn't know why he even bothered keeping an eye out for a man with a lawn ornament.

All he got that night was brief conversation with a barista and quiet walk back to his motel.

He lacked the motivation to socialize anyways. It wasn't like there was anything for him to build on out here. He was leaving the very next day and even if going out made him feel like he at least did something, it wouldn't amount to anything in the long run.

The road had become his solace, an excuse to stay out of the way, but it was also starting to feel like a cage. Locked in and wardened by himself and the obligations he made.

He’d think about how Jamie could have stayed while he continued to work if he had just realized all of this sooner.

If he hadn't ruined it.

_Ruined what?_

Nothing, he reminded himself.

In his room all alone he didn't dare look at the pictures he took at Mary Kathleen. He didn't delete them either. 

Destroying pages from his high school journals seemed like the right thing to do in a fit of juvenile rage, but after bitterly wishing he still had those pages to look back at as an adult, he learned you shouldn't destroy things just because you’re hurt.  
  
He knew he’d regret not having them after he was longer removed from the situation. When it would be easier to call him a hitchhiker and not Jamison.  
  
He’d have to put his feelings aside for the next 1500 kilometers though, because they wanted him in Birdsville by Tuesday. With a three-day drive ahead of him he packed up that night so he could set off the moment he woke up.  
  
It was becoming a blur.  
  
From Brisbane to Charleville and then to Windorah. Nearly identical drives, and fully identical nights. Shower, weather channel, bed, packing up, setting off.  
  
Repetition. Repetition. Repetition.  
  
The hours spent on the road would be over in an instant. Feeling like his mind had shut off but leaving his body just as exhausted as an eight hour drive should make you feel.  
  
It's something that gnawed at him. He could put so much distance behind him but the moment he got into a motel room it felt like he never left the last one.  
  
Like someone with hands bigger than his picked the whole room up and shook it around a bit, just so all the furniture was in a different spot while the colors had been randomized into different inoffensive palettes.  
  
It was always the same room.  
  
He was losing hours every single day and before his eyes had been opened to his misery he thought of it as a skill that had gotten him across the continent countless times. Now, he mourned the no-doubt months that he’d lost (and was continuing to lose) to his dissociative states.  
  
That night in his motel room he tossed and turned. Empty hours in bed strung him by, running the marathon of thoughts through his head enough times that he found himself retrieving his phone off the bedside. Scrolling endlessly for anything that is supposed to remedy whatever it is he’s going through. Half an hour passes and he’s just staring at an empty search bar, eyes straining in the blue light that would only prove to exacerbate the sleeplessness, but it was at least a break from the alternative.  
  
The morning comes too early and by the time he’s filled up the truck and left Windorah he’s only four hours from Birdsville.

He flipped the dials on the dashboard to turn the AC on. The new car smell had just about worn off but as soon as the air was turned on it would fill the space once again. It was hot as all hell on these roads and the long runways of packed dust were creating mirages ahead of him. Staying the same long distance away no matter how far he drove.  
  
He eyes ran circuits from the monitor displaying each new picture to the road ahead, and occasionally out the side windows. The desert was so incredibly shapeless, and sometimes he would decelerate just enough to feel safe rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hands, but after staring at the same exact scenery for long, uninterrupted increments, he could still see the outline of the road and each of the endlessly expanding planes running in opposite directions with his eyes shut.  
  
An overtime, optical illusion.  
  
Only offered a break when the odd tree or road sign crowned on the horizon, and up until he inevitably passed it.  
  
It was stupid. To feel like this. To interpret roadside mundanities as life preservers getting him through the day, but he was trying not to turn his brain off anymore.  
  
Feeling better is working uphill to make a change.  
  
At least that's what he thinks, he’s not entirely sure since it all boils down to brain chemistry, and he drives a truck for a living.  
  
He takes a deep breath, straightening his back to rest flush against the car seat, and squaring his shoulders, he rolls his head from one side to another as best he can without taking his eyes off the road.  
  
The last three weeks had drained the life out of him. His body felt like a poorly kept piece of machinery. Rusting and falling apart, a whole extensive reworking process away from being in functioning order.  
  
A memory of building his motorcycle, finding a worse-for-wear carburetor badly gummed with low grade petrol, and the slow meticulous process of restoring it for use. Replacing the float needle, blasting the carb throat with solvents and going so far as to cut guitar wire from his bass to clean out the jets.  
  
It was _work_. Fine, precise, long winded work. He remembered doubting his decision to build, wishing he had just saved up and bought after all the long nights of seemingly insignificant work, but when it all came together, no one had a bike that ran as good as his.

It was like an extension of him. He knew the moment anything fell out of place and exactly how to fix it. In and out he was conscious of every moving part and he’d never been more sure of himself in anything than he had been with that bike. 

It felt like a metaphor. Like something to draw back on.    
  
Until he remembered that she was now collecting dust under a tarp in a storage unit across the Tasman Sea in Carterton.  
  
Maybe that was a metaphor too.

He was drawn from his thoughts when the same pop-y love song that had been following him for the last hundred kilometers played for a third time. He clicked it off, and while the silence complemented the barren surrounding better than the music and the intermittent commentary from the over enthusiastic radio show hosts, he had another idea in mind.  
  
He leaned forward to dig into the glove box, grabbing the only CD he had and opening it on his lap without taking his eyes off the road.  
  
He hadn't listened to the mix for the first couple of days after the promotion for reasons similar to the pictures in his phone, but over the course of the month he started to feel some sort of cold guilt for stashing it away.  
  
It was Jamie's CD. He loathed that his initial thought was _he would want me to listen to it_ . Because in reality, without the wishful thinking, Jamie would probably just want it back.  
  
He still hadn't heard all of the songs on it. Whenever he popped it into the CD player he only let it play for a song or two before taking it back out.

Small doses.

He still couldn't for the life of him understand the purpose of the mix. Some of the songs were in similar genres but they were spaced considerably apart from each other, with no shortage of wild cards between them. 

It wasn't a very thematically cohesive mix to say the least.  
  
But even if he didn't care for the stuff on the mix any more than the stuff on the radio, he'd still listen to each song in its entirety because it had been curated by Jamie, because they were songs that he liked.  
  
Maybe it was pathetic of him but it made him feel like there was a piece of the man still in the car with him.  
  
Coincidentally the first song he landed on was a pop-y love song of its own and he found himself exhaling fondly through his nose.

Of course. 

It was a bittersweet feeling, but it made the drive a little more bearable. Replacing the would-be empty minutes with something a little more significant.  
  
\---  
  
He makes it into town by noon.  
  
He has reason to believe that this is going to be his last stop in Queensland since it’s only a skip West from Poeppel Corner, the spot where Queensland, South Australia, and Northern Territory meet.  
  
Birdsville is a small town, not unlike all of the other small towns he passes through, but something about it feels different. So far into the continent it's hard not to feel like you’re a world away modern civilization.  
  
He’s been here once before when he was trucking, but he was only passing through at the time, stopping only to refuel before setting back out, so he's entertaining the idea of scoping the town out while he’s here. The Birdsville bakery and the pub under the hotel are notable stops when it comes to obscure tourism, so he’ll probably pop in and meander a bit.

Shouldn't be too much of a commitment since the town is roughly the size of an indoor mall.  

He books a room at the lodge. Even though the hotel is about as iconic as a small town hotel can be, the lodge is cheaper and significantly less crowded, and no downstairs racket. It's on the same block anyway and he makes a vow to himself to _only_ walk while he’s here. For the sake of his knees.    
  
He crosses the threshold into the room, setting his bag down with the express intention of heading right back out, but as soon as he's in proximity to the bed, he can't stop the impulse to fall forward onto the mattress.  
  
The box spring whines beneath him and the muddy autumn colors of the bedspread are the last thing he seems before smooshing his face into the pillows.  
  
The duvet is rough, scratchy in a way that makes him nostalgic for something he doesn't even remember. It smells like cheap detergent. The pressure is unpleasant on his guts so he rolls onto his side, and then to his back.  
  
He should get back up before he winds up resigning himself to the bed.  
  
It feels pathetic. He feels bad.  
  
Bad that he's so content to immediately blow everything off just because lying down would be so much easier. It doesn't make him feel good, but he’s exhausted. And it's not an exhaustion that ends with sleep. It clings to his mind like a lense filter, looking for any opportunity to be without engagement.  
  
He sighs, a deep exclamatory sigh. Filling his lungs with the stagnant motel room air until his chest aches.  
  
He looks back at the door.  
  
Acting as though he's a passive audience to the internal conflict and not an active player. His mind is made up but he still entertains the idea that he cares enough to think about it.  
  
Eventually he closes his eyes, reminds himself that he’s a piece of shit one last time before succumbing to lethargy.  
  
Napping at noon probably isn't a good idea by any standard, but in all fairness he didn't get much sleep last night.  
  
Still this would only go to derail his sleep schedule even more, and by the time he wakes back up he's really feeling the consequence of his actions.  
  
A throbbing ache had wrapped itself around the whole right side of his head. Too sharp to be alleviated by squeezing a second pillow over his head. His hair was irritating the back of his neck and the light shearing through the crack in the curtains was white hot in his eyes.  
  
Mako eventually had to haul himself up to retreat from its glare, peeling his shirt off in the process after he’d sweat through it completely, and clearing his throat since a sour film had adhered itself to the roof of his mouth.  
  
He threw a look over his shoulder searching for a water bottle he didn't have, coincidentally catching a glance at the alarm clock behind him.  
  
5:22 pm

He groaned, closing his eyes tight from the shell of pain rippling through his head.  
  
_Goddamn._ _  
_ _  
_ He stood up, walking over his discarded polo and making his way to the bathroom with squinted eyes.  
  
He felt utterly disgusting, clammy feet crossing cold tiles. He left the bathroom light off as he cupped water from the tap in his hands and washed the disgusting taste out of his mouth. Splashing cold water on his face while he was there.  
  
It was silent, save for the trickle of water. He stayed there, rubbing wet hands into his face like he was convinced it would eventually start to make him feel better. Strands of hair slide down his face, getting wet.  
  
_They’ll dry frizzy._  
  
He doesn't know what to blame it on. Be it the pain blooming from his temple, or the guilt of wasting the entire afternoon. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s the absolute catastrophe his life has become, he finds himself weeping into the sink.  
  
There's absolutely no thoughts in his head, couldn't form one if he tried. Just a jammer signal of malcontent feelings, and he’s finally at a breaking point so he lets it boil over.  
  
He doesn't know how long he spends crying in the dark but eventually the sound of the water is grating on him enough to twist the knob off.  
  
Obscured in the dark, his reflection glowers at him. Disheveled and flushed, he glares back.  
  
You _can't cry anymore._ He tells himself, eventually breaking the staring contest he was having with himself to wince away at the ache. He needed something for this since he was refusing to lay back down.

Really should have been carrying painkillers with him this whole time but he figured he might as well learn _this_ the hard way too. 

The roadhouse wasn't more than a couple hundred yards from the lodge, He could walk and get something there.    
  
Muscling through the pain and the stiffness in his joints because he couldn't tolerate anymore of his own excuses. Digging into his bag to find a fresh shirt, and going so far as to force himself to consider the options.  
  
_That's what people do, they care about how they look._ He lectured himself, settling for a palm leaf hawaiian and leaving his hair down to avoid any additional strain.

The sun was quite possibly at the worst angle, hanging low on the horizon only a few hours off from sunset, he had to cross the parking lot with a hand shielding his eyes until he made it to sidewalk and the sun was thankfully at his back.  
  
His mind was still buzzing. A weird middle ground between thoughtless and overwhelmed. If he hadn't been so painfully sober he would have called it a hangover.  
  
Birdsville was quiet. That was nice.

The air was soft and the warm breezes blowing through his hair felt like relief after his emotional maelstrom. He still felt sensitive, flushed in the face with the damp bits of hair and sweaty palms. But in this state, just being out in the fresh air felt a little more humanizing. 

The arched awning outside of the roadhouse was lit up with warm orange lights. They were closing within the hour so he picked up his pace as to not be one of those obnoxious customers keeping them open longer while he browsed.  
  
The automated bell rang and he got a quiet greeting from the tired eyed cashier behind the counter. He nodded back to the guy before making his way to the appropriate aisle. Between boxes of band aids and bug bite creams he picks up a single box of Tylenol and makes his way back to the counter.  
  
The man obviously doesn't recognize Mako and asks where he's from as he swipes his card.

He’s not sure how to answer so he supplies “Just rolled in from Windorah.” Despite the man’s question, he grunts dismissively and waves him along.

The bell chimes behind him when the man asks if he needs a bag or a receipt and he declines both, taking the box in his hand and turning to leave.

The sight before him stops him dead in his tracks.

Mako’s never seen a ghost before.  
  
In fact, anytime the question has made its rounds to him he’s always left chuckling and shaking his head in the negative.  
  
But now, as he turned around to face a true ghost of his past, the elation he felt was unwavering.  
  
It wasn’t a mirror, although their expressions were probably identical. Dumbfounded; two deer in the headlights, stalled in blind fucking shock.  
  
He swears that time stuttered to a stop when he saw Jamison standing there, like he could see every muscle in his face respond, watching behind Jamie’s eyes as he was recognized to be undoubtedly Mako.

The lights, the store, the music playing on the speakers, _everything_ faded out into distant steady beats, like the thump of a heart in utero. Like the thump of his _own_ heart in his ears. He barely registered his ragged breathing. There wasn’t enough air in this stuffy little building. Might not be enough in the entire universe at this point. Did he fucking forget his inhaler?  
  
Jamison was wearing a black unbuttoned shirt, two sizes too big. Blue flames with white outlines skirted the bottom of the garment that hung lower than the cut of his shorts. He was on the verge of being sunburnt, a faint tint of red covering his arm and leg, presumably from the sand sticking to his sweat. And like a flagship, Samantha was perched above his shoulders. The arch of her neck completing the silhouette that had been stuck in his head all of this time. He looked--well, not _good,_ but he looked so much like himself, it made his heart squeeze in his chest.  
  
Mako couldn't speak, couldn't react with anything but staring dumbly back at him for what felt like an eternity.  
  
Like they were the only two people in the world.  
  
“...xcuse me, sir-- you can’t-- you can’t have that bag in here.” the guy behind the front desk grumbles from behind Mako, interrupting their dream-like state of bewilderment. “--you can leave it out front but it can’t come in here.”  
  
Mako finally blinks when he’s reminded this isn’t in a dream. That he had walked here, got dressed, even cried before this very moment.  
  
Jamie is still there. Even after he blinks.  
  
He watches Jamie's eyes cut from him, to the cashier and back to him, and thank god he’s so quick because Mako sure as hell can't make the first move. He’s convinced that if he took a single step, he would collapse to the ground.

Jamie doesn’t seem to mind though, bounding over to him, expression spasming to convey six separate emotions Mako couldn’t quite place. 

Jamie’s shrugging his bag off, and taking a step closer. Instinctively, he notices the annoyance emitting from the cashier. They’re obviously making a judgement of Jamie's character based solely on appearances alone, but it's easy to ignore the moment Jamie's holding his bag out to him.  
  
“Wait for me outside, then?” Is all he says. It’s steady, just a little nervous, as if he was asking for a favor and _not_ flooding Mako with about a hundred different emotions.

When Mako doesn’t move, Jamie raises his eyebrows and moves to take the bag away. Mako all but snatches it out of his grasp, expecting but still underestimating its weight.

“Yeah, mate,” he mutters, clearing his throat to rid the dry scratchiness. “I’ll be out front.”

Jamison shoots him a small smile and nods.

The bell chimes when he walks outside. The air is still warm and a lot more bearable than earlier. The sun is dipping lower now and bathing the entire front of the roadhouse in brilliant warm hues.

Mako stumbles over to the ice box, needing something to lean on.

The setting sun is casting long shadows across the lot. He feels like he's floating as a buzzing light flickers into a spotlight above his head. As if on cue, the cicadas start singing.

It was like he was divorced from reality.  
  
He finds himself asking if any of that really happened.

His fist tightens around Jamie’s bag. He suppresses a sigh of relief. 

Running his thumb over the spongy, tattered mesh straps and staring at the ground. He wills himself to calm down; he’s just waiting for him to come back out. It’s nerve wracking, as he should have expected it to be, but his ambient mental space has lept from whatever pit of despair he was in fifteen minutes ago to soaring through a completely unidentifiable plane of feeling.    
  
He moves his grip on the bag to the hand strap at the top. Letting the bottom rest on the pavement because the least he can do is look a little less stupid standing here. He can't seem to grasp the sudden turn of events and everytime he looks down at Samantha the emotional roller coaster starts over.  
  
It can't be a dream because she’s here, staring back at him with her flinty, hundred yard stare.

Maybe he is delusional because it really feels like she's confronting him. 

It's quiet in Birdsville.  
  
He can hear Jamie chatting with the cashier inside. Mako couldn't for the life of him become competent enough to understand what he was saying but his tone sounded jovial, the same as it did almost a month ago, and it filled him with a longing warmth that started at his feet and rose up. Like butterflies pullulating in his stomach.  
  
The door swung open and, stupidly, he kept his eyes on Samantha as not to seem frantic, of which he definitely was. It didn't count for much as the second he heard the first footstep he looked up to meet him. He had a plastic bag hanging from his prosthetic arm and after casting a glance at the lot in front of them he looked back to meet his gaze, offering a sheepish grin.  
  
“Hey.”  
  
Mako swallowed around his nerves trying to produce an actual vocalization this time around.  
  
“Hey.”  
  
And then nothing. They stood there staring at eachother again. It wasn't by any means distasteful. There was a sense of mutual awkwardness that set them both in a state of comfortable unease.  
  
It was naive of him to expect that they’d throw themselves at each other, embracing like reunited lovers, because they had never established that.  
  
He didn't know where he stood with the man.

He had reason to believe that Jamie wouldn't want anything to do with him after cutting him off so abruptly in Croydon, but here he stood, not with anger, or annoyance. Just the same level of uncertainty spelled across his face.

He was losing whatever nonexistent contest his anxious mind had conjured up when Jamie had to say the first word _again._ He didn’t know what he expected. The other man extended a finger at the box of tylenol in his hand, and with a straining uncharacteristic politeness in his tone he asked “Headache?”

Mako looked from him to the box trying get his mind back on track. He winced when the gears in his head sputtered to a stop. Without another word, Jamie reached into the plastic bag on his arm and fished out a large bottle of water. He cracked it open and extended it in Mako’s direction. When Mako just blinks at him, Jamie smiles, nodding encouragingly.

It was the signature crooked, toothy grin that he had been having sleepless nights over. It took his breath away. It made Mako feel hopeless, but he welcomed the feeling.

His heart was in his throat and he scrambled to take the water bottle from him and open the little cardboard box at the same time, mumbling a lack luster “Thanks” in response.  
  
He took two capsules and swallowed them down, handing the bottle back to Jamie when he was done.  
  
Jamie capped the bottle, and making no move to grab his bag back from Mako, they fell briefly into silence again.  
  
“How’re you do-”  
“How’ve you-”  
  
They both started. Stopped. Looked at each other.  
  
Jamie giggled and just like that Mako relaxed. Visibly deflating and letting the breath he was holding out in an amused huff.  
  
“How’ve you been?” Mako asked. His voice was hoarse, but he wasn't going to let himself feel self conscious about, he wouldn't hold that against Jamie so Jamie probably wouldn't hold it against him.    
  
Jamie grinned at him, taking a sip of water himself before dropping the bottle back into the bag and turning on his heel so that him and Mako were both looking out at the lot.  
  
“Ah y’know-- Lotsa’ walking.” Mako watched him shake his head and cringe at himself, obviously still a little flustered. “-But I been good, caught a ride from Bedourie, sweet couple making their way down south lent me a ride-” Mako hummed to let him know he was listening. “- Wa - mm. What about you?”  
  
Mako cleared his throat to buy himself some time. He wasn't sure where to start, what on earth to say that was an appropriate response to the question.  
  
It wasn't a loaded question by any stretch, but considering everything, and the fact that it felt like evidence that he’d just been crying was still written all over his face, he weighed his words carefully.  
  
“It’s been…” He started and stopped.  
  
This conversation was anything but smooth, but Jamie wasn't rushing him. He made the executive decision to not get into the nitty gritty, he wanted to keep things light. God forbid he come apart at the seams right now.  
  
“It’s been quiet.”  
  
Jamie snorts at that, and again it sets Mako’s fluttering guts at ease.  
  
“I got a promotion.” He adds.  
  
“Oh yeah?” Jamie grinned, giving his arm a bump with an elbow. “Gratzy mate.”  
  
“Yeah…” _Goddamn it Mako._ “Got a truck now.”  
  
Jamison's face lit up, turning his head to look right at him “No shit?!” he asked excitedly. “‘S got the paintjob does it?” He grinned and Mako couldn't help but crack one back at him, rolling his eyes fondly.  
  
“Yeah it looks ridiculous.”  
  
Jamie snorted a laugh and Mako chuckled with him.  
  
“Would you wanna-” Mako started, but when Jamies eyes shot back to his he trailed off.  
  
“- I was gonna stroll around for a bit and if you want you can -- unless you’re headed back out, you could uhm… uhh -- join me?”  
  
He was about to completely crumble with embarrassment but Jamie didn't give him a chance.  
  
“Yeah” He nodded enthusiastically. “absolutely.”  
  
\---  
  
The two of them walk down Adelaide street together. Deliberately slow steps. He’s not sure what possesses him to agree to the cigarette that Jamie offers him, passively mentioning that he doesn't usually smoke cigarettes as Jamie lights it, taking a quick drag of his own before handing it off to Mako and saying that he doesn't either.    
  
It felt good.  
  
Not the smoking, but the gesture.  
  
That Jamison was content to spend at least the time it took to finish a smoke with him.  
  
“You been here before?” Jamie asked, sliding his thumbs along the shoulder straps of his bag and looking out across the street at the historical ruins and empty lots.  
  
Mako couldn't seem to keep his eyes off the man. He wasn't sure why he expected him to look any different. Only a matter of weeks had passed although it felt like years.  
  
The sharp edge of his jaw, the chord of his neck and the street lights increasing their luminosity across the high planes of his cheeks with each passing moment. He almost forgot to answer, thankful that the cigarette was giving his mouth an excuse.  
  
“Only once when I was driving semis. Never got a chance to sight see though. What about you?” He asked, passing the smoke between them.  
  
“If I was I must’a been ripped cause It’s all a little fuzzy.” He turned back to look at him. “How long are you here? M’not keeping you am I?”  
  
_Absolutely Not_ _  
_ _  
_ “Nah, I’m here till tomorrow.”  
  
“-And then where?” It didn't sound inquisitive. Mako kind of wished it did.  
  
“Uhh, not sure. I probably have a text from them but I left my phone at the room.”  
  
When they made it to the famed Birdsville Hotel they slowed to a stop. Neither of them really making a move to go in, they resigned to loitering under the awning.  
  
A bit of tension formed in Mako’s chest. To be here standing with the man and trying to stay as casual as possible. Like they were business colleges and not….whatever they actually were. He wanted to get somewhere but both of them were being too conscious of the other.  
  
Too conscious of trying not making things weird.  
  
Jamie sat back on the vacant bench and Mako followed suit.  
  
Sitting changes the atmosphere, and Mako’s able to put to rest the idea that he was going to somehow run out of time with the man.  
  
They sat in silence. Jamie supplying the water bottle once again and they shared that too.  
  
“S’ pretty.” Jamie remarked, and Mako finally stopped pretending to stare out in front of them and actually did.  
  
It shouldn't have taken him by surprise since he’d gradually watched the sky changing color from the moment he went outside, but now that Jamie had referenced it he actually took a moment to absorb it all.  
  
The sky in front of them was lavender, gradating off to the right in a light blue and then a streak of yellow from where the sun was setting beyond the gated airstrip. The purple was a soft backdrop against the flurry of blues and greens reflecting off the street from all different lamp posts, and the steely yellow light they were sitting in. A smattering of green from the single tree across the street from them, hanging cloudlike over the bright red roofs of the three phone booths beneath it.  
  
It was pretty. He’d call it dream-like if he hadn't completely overused that word in his head. _Ethereal_ might have been pushing it but he decided given the circumstances he’d let himself have it.  
  
It felt otherworldly to be sitting with him here now, making a conscious effort to snapshot this moment. Take it all in. The sound of the crowded bar just a wall away from them. The full pallet of colors laid out in front of them. The breeze, the air in his lungs. Jamie was still nursing the cigarette and he even catalogued the stale smelling plumes of tobacco.  
  
When it was passed back to him he took another drag, and it allowed him to set aside his reserve and finally say something of substance.    
  
“I have your mix.”  
  
Jamie's lips peeled back into a toothy smirk, wide enough that Mako could see his gold tooth. He brought his leg up resting his ankle at his knee and repositioning himself to sit a little straighter. He didn't say anything yet, looked like he was about to but Mako took his chance to throw the second punch.  
  
“What exactly about it is ‘High Octane’?” He asked goodnaturedly, Jamie swatting at his air quotes and breaking into a fit of giggles.  
  
He was delighted by the question and started by placing his fingers to his chest as if he were about to dive into a shakespearean monologue.  
  
“Well you see! The songs aren't _all_ high octane, the entire mix is!” He exclaimed and Mako cut his eyes at him, unconvinced.  
  
“Its my Magnum Opus! The end-all-be-all!” He amped up the hand gestures.  
  
“The swiss army knife of Mix’s?” Mako finally humored him and like gas to a fire Jamison lit up.  
  
“Precisely! Im sure I _could_ make a mix of only fuel injected rippers, but that one is meant to encompasses all facets of my busy lifestyle.” He tittered.  
  
“And what part of your lifestyle is scored by Blondie?”  
  
“The part where I'm breaking hearts and hustling.” He jabbed and Mako almost, _almost_ let that knock the wind out of him.  
  
He waited until both of their excitement notched down to make things risky.  
  
“Did you mean to leave it?”  
  
Jamie shifted his gaze to him and this close up Mako really had to resist the urge to look away.  
  
“The mix I mean.” He added for good measure when the silences stretched for a femtosecond too long.  
  
“Yeah.” He nodded.  
  
Now they were skirting the edge.  
  
Entering potentially shakey ground, but Mako took care to keep his expression soft, anything that translated non-aggression, or whatever it was both of them were dancing around.  
  
“You listened to it?” Jamie asked. It was a little rhetorical since he had just referenced its contents but if they were still trying to keep things within the realm of formal conversation it worked just fine to move things along.  
  
“Yeah, I mean I haven't heard all of the songs yet but it--”  
  
_Just say it._ _  
_ _  
_ “- kept me company.”  
  
That must have been what he wanted to hear because the next smile wasn't one he’d seen before tonight. It was about as subtle as any of his features could get. Plainly present, but dialed down in comparison to his other expressons. It could have been any one of the lights they were currently bathed in that was catching in his eyes. Gleaming back at him, and this time he didn't feel an urge to look away.  
  
When the cigarette burnt down to the filter they swapped it out for the bag of sunflower seeds Jamie had bought in the roadhouse. Cracking the shells between their teeth and spitting them out on the walk back towards the lodge.  
  
Their conversation had dipped back to more lighthearted, feel good talk, short quips and quiet giggles. Jamie had insisted on catching a glimpse of this new Google Maps Track that he was certain Mako had been criminally under hyping, and he watched as Jamison shot ahead when they turned the corner and it came into view.  
  
“If you weren't an eyeful before you sure as hell are one now!” He hollered back, circling the truck and breaking into a hearty cackle. Mako rolled his eyes on impulse as he made his way up, leaning against the bed of the vehicle while Jamie made his final round. Closing one eye and bringing his fingers up to frame the image of Mako and his big hilarious car.  
  
Mako couldn't help but zoom out from this moment. Being back in the motel parking lot. Only a few yards from the door he walked out of when he was on a completely different end of the emotional spectrum. His headache was fading out and even if the ends of his hair were fluffier than he liked it was all so far removed from what he was feeling now. Watching Jamie's wild eyed grin and skinny fingers taking a mental photograph of him.  
  
It was getting dark now, and he couldn't ignore that he was essentially back at his home for the night. Jamie, of whom did not have a home for the night, was making his way back towards him.

Stopping just in front of him to fish his hand into the bag of sunflower seeds that Mako had somehow wound up holding.  
  
For the hundredth time tonight things fell silent.  
  
Where do they go from here.  
  
Mako has an idea. Has had an idea from the moment he started regretting ever letting the man go. Jamison seems uncontent to propose anything from here. He cant hold that against him   given the circumstances of their split, so he figures if anyone is going to say anything first, it has to be _him._ _  
_ _  
_ He had been the one to pump the brakes on them after all.

“Hey, Listen I uhm-- ” He started. Jamie looked up from the bag, crunching a shell in his mouth and quirking a brow.  
  
“Things are...different now. With my job I mean, and I…” He was struggling to get the words out, should have rehearsed this in his head had he ever even considered the possibility of a second chance. He had one now and he was really blowing it.  
  
A long moment passed between them. The look on Jamie’s face was unreadable and even just the small movement of him pulling his hand out of the bag Mako was holding hammered home just how fucking bad he didn't want him to leave.  
  
Three times.  
  
Three time their paths had crossed and Mako was sure that he was out of luck now, he couldn't let this escape him. He’d never forgive himself for it.  
  
“Do you need a place to stay tonight -and maybe a ride tomorrow?” Mako heard himself ask.  
  
Jamie's lips parted, his brows raising the faintest bit at the question. Mako watched the expression on his face lighten.

There was so much more happening in this moment than a question and anticipated answer. Something they were both feeling, and acting like they weren’t completely consumed by.  
  
Jamie smiled, nodding his head.  
  
“Yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is NOT the end of this fic!! However the next chapter may take some time to come out as im going to be busy for a while this month!  
> While its not necessary to actually go on Google Maps and scope out the places mentioned, I highly recommend that anyone interested check out the street view spots in Birdsville since the pictures there heavily inspired me to write this fic in the first place.  
> Thank you for reading!


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